


The Rule I Will Most Cherish Breaking

by TimeSorceror



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Custom Hawke, Multi, Non-Binary Hawke - Freeform, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 34,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9540617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeSorceror/pseuds/TimeSorceror
Summary: A collection of 25 drabbles written for@justhanderspositive's#Januanderstakeback challengeon Tumblr. Features my custom Hawke, Hayden and their cousin Rashia Amell as the Hero of Ferelden.





	1. Anders and Healing (Anders/Hawke)

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I finished all 25 prompts. I feel so accomplished. Well, now they're here, or they will be when I'm done transferring them over. Thought they should be all in one place when I was done with them. There _are_ quite a few different tags that I used for each post, so the warnings for the various chapters will be in the notes until I'm finished cataloging them all.
> 
> So, without further ado, let's begin.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include: **Surgery and Graphic Descriptions of Birth Content Warnings.**

“You have a great aptitude for healing magic, you know.”

Hayden paused in their work –sterilizing and drying and folding linen bandages for use in the clinic– and looked up at Anders, briefly stunned by the comment.

“I-I, uh… yes. I suppose so,” they stammered, glancing back down as they resumed their work. Anders chuckled, and Hayden could almost hear the sly smirk that had likely made its way onto Anders’ face. 

“I mean it,” Anders insisted, and there was a softness to his words underneath the eager praise, “You’re really quite good. More so than most mages who pursue Creation magic. Have you ever thought you could be a Spirit Healer?” Hayden looked up again, though they didn’t meet Anders’ eyes, and instead they frowned a little as they tried to search for an answer to Anders’ question.

“My father was from the Circle here,” Hayden began slowly, “but when we lived in Ferelden, he only ever taught me how to hide from the denizens of the Fade, spirits and demons alike. If I have such an aptitude, I couldn’t tell you.”

Hayden watched as the weight of the revelations dawned on Anders, and the blond’s face fell. The expression made something in Hayden’s chest ache something terrible, and before they could stop themselves, they reached out to grasp one of Anders’ hands. They were too often freezing, shaking, and covered in blood and other bodily fluids. Yet, Anders’ hands made a great many miracles happen every day.

* * *

Anders’ hands had kept Fenris from losing a leg once when a dragonling at the Bone Pit had torn a tendon in a rather nasty bite to the inside of his left knee. Another time, when Hayden’s own magic had been tapped out from summoning a firestorm, he’d set broken bones in both Merrill and Isabela, mending them together without being asked. 

And here, in the clinic, Hayden had seen hundreds of Bone Pit workers and sick refugees, more broken bones and infected wounds and coughing fits that wracked their bodies and sounded like death. Anders tended to them all, and not always with magic. Some just needed a few potions and some rest, while others were given a bit of elfroot tea with just a hint of blood lotus and poppy milk and Anders had to bring out his surgical instruments to cut off part of a limb, extract bits of cancerous tissue, or trim back infection before setting either bone or flesh to rights. Once, Hayden had watched Anders deliver a child in this way when it had become clear that both the mother and babe would perish otherwise, and that had been one of the most terrifying and tense moments they’d ever witnessed.

It was such a delicate procedure, putting the woman under but not too much while numbing the pain of the cuts and contractions, then that first cut had to be just right and precise (Hayden remembered now –distantly– how Anders had had everyone clear out but Hayden and Lirene, Lirene who had witnessed and assisted with this sort of thing before) but Anders’ hands were steady and firm in his concentration, and his cuts were quick, his movements purposeful.

It had felt like an eternity, those moments between those cuts and the moment when Anders pried the child out, quickly cutting the cord and handing him off to Lirene. He’d called Hayden over to help clean and heal up the incisions, and Hayden could remember Lirene coaxing out the babe’s first cries off in the distance as their hands shook while assisting Anders, but Anders’ steady hands and low, soothing voice grounded Hayden and everything somehow turned out fine in the end. Hayden had watched Lirene had the cleaned and wrapped child to Anders, who placed it in the mother’s arms as her husband (who’d finally been let back into the clinic) supported her from behind and they cooed over the child in a picture of perfect happiness. Anders had chosen to take up a spot next to him, watching them as well.

“You did well today, Hayden. Thank you for assisting.”

“T-Thank you. It was nothing.”

And then Anders snaked an arm around Hayden’s waist and brought them close, exhaling with soft, shaky laughter.

“Oh, Hayden. You don’t know how much you mean to me.”

* * *

And of course, there were the myriad of normal births that Hayden often assisted with. Once, they’d even had to deliver one on their own one day when Anders was out of the city gathering more herbs for his stores, and an elf from the alienage had been brought there by her sister. Hayden, having offered to take Anders’ place for the day, had been a little dumbstruck at first but quickly recovered and helped get the woman settled.

It wasn’t until very late in the evening when Anders arrived back, and Hayden could just see the man standing in the doorway in his peripheral vision, as Hayden was telling the woman to push. They caught the babe –a tiny, squalling little girl– cut the cord and cleaned her, and wrapping her up as Anders quickly set down his things to help with the afterbirth.

“I’m so sorry Hayden,” Anders had said to them sheepishly after they’d fixed something to eat. “If I’d known that she was going to go into labor today I wouldn’t have gone…”

Hayden just laughed and shook their head.

“It’s fine, Anders, really. Now, if I hadn’t assisted you with like a hundred other births, I might’ve been a little out of sorts. Besides, you needed more herbs anyway. How’d that go today, by the way?” 

“Very well, actually. Thank you. It’s prime growing season, so the elfroot and embrium just grow like crazy. I won’t need any more for at least another six weeks. Maybe two months if there’s not another Bone Pit incident.” The two of them shared a look, and for a moment there was nothing but silence before Hayden snorted softly and muttered, “Hnn. I doubt it,” and then they descended into cackling laughter.

* * *

But now, as Hayden’s hands grasped Anders’ they worked a different sort of magic. The kind of magic that made Hayden’s heart flutter like a blighted butterfly, and _Hayden_ had been the one to _initiate_ the contact!

“Oh Anders, don’t – don’t feel bad on my account! I – please. I’d love to learn, you know. Why do you think I spend so much time here?”

Hayden offered the healer a soft smile, and they watched as the tenseness in his shoulders relaxed and that sly grin slowly returned. “Oh? Is that the only reason? I thought you only kept me around for my good looks?” Hayden felt their face flush and immediately leaned back and started again on cleaning and folding their linen wraps.

“I–I, um…”

And then it was Anders’ turn to reach out and pause Hayden’s movements, causing their gazes to meet.

“Sorry if my flirting makes you uncomfortable, sweetheart,” Anders said through a soft, huffing laugh. “It’s a habit, I didn’t mean it.”

“I hope you you meant it,” Hayden replied without thinking. “It makes me feel pretty.” And then Hayden seemed to realize what they’d just said and clamped their free hand over their mouth while Anders laughed.

“Oh darling, you’re not just pretty, you’re absolutely gorgeous. Especially in those new robes of yours, they do wonders for your waist, dear.” Anders leaned back and returned to his own work, muttering idly, “By the way, if you have any questions about spirit healing, just ask anytime. I’d be glad to teach you all I know. And there’s plenty of things to read… just a few things I’ve picked up here and there… should be somewhere on my desk…”

And he just sort of continued running at the mouth in that fashion and Hayden simply ran a hand through their long dark hair as they settled in to listen. At some point they’d have a look at those books, probably. And the thought of sharing a particular talent with Anders made Hayden all… warm and tingly.

They most certainly wanted to learn more about spirit healing.

If it meant more time spent with Anders, anything was worth that.


	2. Anders and Cats (Anders/Fenris)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Fenris saves a mother cat and her kittens from the rain, and enlists Anders' help in taking care of them.
> 
> There's a brief Fenhanders moment, but it's Fenders that's the focus here.
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one are: **Cuteness Overload**. ;)

Anders was scribbling away furiously, writing for a new project Hayden had suggested might help him spread the word about the atrocities being committed by the Templars in the Gallows – “Easy, Justice,” he sighed, pausing his writing before his temper grew too much to write neatly.

“I know you’re impatient, but Hayden will kill us both if we do anything foolish,” he muttered to the silence of the estate library.

Anders was never quite sure why, but he preferred it here, instead of the privacy of Hayden’s other desk in their rooms. It was probably all of the books surrounding him, just the weight of their presence and the smell or ink, paper, and leather. It reminded him of the few good memories the Circle had left him with, studying in the Tower library with Karl.

There was an apologetic pang of regret that lapped at the edges of Anders’ awareness, followed by a soothing pressure along his shoulders that had been aching for some time now, pouring over his writing as he’d been doing since the current storm outside had settled in.

“Oh… that’s –how did– no, I don’t really care… ha…”

There was a rumble of warm laughter as Justice continued to (somehow) stimulate the aching muscles in Anders’ neck and shoulders as he leaned back, sprawled quite comfortably against the desk chair. Their strengthened bond was one of the few things that Hayden had helped the two of them accomplish in all the years they’d known Hayden.

Hayden, the poor dear, had been roped into yet another social function tonight. They’d elected to drag Varric along because they couldn’t very well bring either their possessed apostate or Tevinter fugitive lovers to such a thing, no matter how well they cleaned up. So at least Anders could safely say that Hayden was unlikely to die of boredom tonight if the dwarf was also in attendance.

Fenris was still out at the moment though, and Anders wondered a little at what might be keeping him… then he heard the ever so soft padding of feet as they approached the library doors.

Anders turned to his left to look around the side of the chair just as one of the doors opened, and a slightly damp-looking Fenris poked his head around the side, shifting eyes finally coming to rest on Anders.

“Mage,” he grumbled, the epithet more affection than vitriol at this point, “I… I require your assistance.”

“With what?” Anders asked, despite getting up immediately to follow Fenris towards the kitchens. Fenris’ ears just twitched in the way that they only did when annoyed (mostly at himself, Anders had learned).

“I was on my way here from helping Aveline this afternoon when the skies opened up,” Fenris grumbled, “And I was mostly fine, thanks to that cloak Hayden gifted me… but I… well… ugh. You’ll see.” Anders smiled a little, wondering if the elf was trying to surprise him with a gift. It was a rare occurrence even with their relationship being vastly more improved than it had when they’d first met, but it did happen occasionally. And the signs were all there: the soft flush of his cheeks, the stammering, not meeting Anders’ eyes…

And then they entered the kitchen.

“Oh,” Anders breathed, “oh sweet Maker.”

There, on top of the kitchen table, sat a basket. But the basket wasn’t really the important bit, it was what was inside the basket that had Anders so awestruck.

A rather wet-looking mama cat lay huddled with a litter of about five kittens in the center of a nest of blankets. It was difficult to tell what kind she was, but as Anders gingerly approached, one hand turned upwards with two fingers extended so she could catch his scent, she eventually let him get close enough to brush some of the wet dirt from her forehead to reveal the familiar pattern that he so loved.

“Tabbies! Oh, Fen… look at them, they’re soaking! You poor babies, you…”

Fenris cleared his throat. 

“I don’t know much about drying off cats or keeping them from getting sick… but I saw them in the alley I often use to return here faster and… I couldn’t bring myself to leave them.” He shrugged, reaching out to the mother, who licked his fingers a little and then rubbed her forehead against them.

Anders chuckled.

“Aw, she likes you. Must be why she let you pick up her and her babies to bring them here.” Fenris grumbled a bit as Anders gave him a soft smile, but he didn’t complain. Shortly afterwards, Anders went to fetch some soap, water, and a pan to wash the dirt from the poor things, enlisting Fenris’ help to do so. 

Eventually they were all clean and dry, and the kittens were happily suckling from their mother in a slightly larger basket with warmer, drier blankets.

“I’m really glad you brought them home, Fen,” Anders said as they brought the basket into the bedroom they shared with Hayden, setting it on the rug near the fire. Fenris tugged some pillows off of the bed, and he and Anders settled on the floor, stomachs pressed against the rug as they gently pet the mother and her kittens.

“I hadn’t intended them to be a gift,” Fenris admitted. Anders had thought as much. “But when I realized I didn’t know what to do with them… I thought you might.” Anders nodded. 

“I’m still glad you brought them. These poor little guys don’t even have their eyes open yet… I doubt they would’ve lived very long.” He sighed wistfully and drew his fingers against the mother’s head, smiling at the resulting purr his actions elicited. “And this lovely lady needs some more meat on her bones so she can help feed her babies. Don’t you, Lady Moonpaws?”

Fenris groaned. 

“Mage, if we’re keeping them, you are _not_ allowed to name them.”

Anders laughed, trying and failing to pretend to look affronted. “What? Lady Moonpaws is a very respectable name, isn’t it, little miss?” 

Mama Cat gave him a baleful look and simply meowed at him.

“Look, she agrees with me!”

“She’s just annoyed with you that you’ve stopped petting her and would like you to just get back to it,” Fenris drawled. Anders simply chuckled and winked at him as he resumed petting Lady Moonpaws gently with his fingers.

“Fen’s just jealous that he’s not being pet,” Anders cooed at her, “yes he is.”

“Hmm. We could rectify that later, perhaps.”

“Yes, we – what?”

“The petting. I hear it can also be rather… useful in the bedroom.”

Anders was quiet for a while before he said, very softly, “I, um, well. If you think you might be into that, I think that one store in the Hightown market sells a few things that can help with that. The, ah… plugs might be the hardest thing to find, I think…”

“Not for very long,” Fenris purred, leaning over to nibble at the skin of Anders’ neck just below his ear as he swung one leg in between Anders’ and smoothly placed about half of his body across the mage’s back like a heavy elf blanket.

A heavy elf blanket… who was most definitely aroused.

“Fen!” Anders squeaked. “Not in front of the cats!”

“Why not?” Fenris chuckled, still nuzzling and licking at the mage’s neck. “They’re cats. They don’t mind. And you said so yourself that the kittens can’t even see.”

“W-Well, Lady Moonpaws can… uh, can-can’t we continue this on the bed?” Anders laughed breathily. “It’s really, uh… I’m not as young as I used to be and having sex on the rug is, er… while very arousing, uh… probably not very good for my –oh~!” Fenris had started nibbling on his ear which was doing _things_ to his insides. 

“…fine, fine. We’ll move to the bed,” Fenris whispered, chuckling. Beneath him, Anders shivered, Fenris’ silky voice so close to his ear was like an instant hard-on. Not… that that was a bad thing right now.

As Fenris moved off of him and all but dragged him back to the bed, Lady Moonpaws glanced up at them once with a rather disinterested stare before she gave a soft chirp of satisfaction and closed her eyes to sleep. 

“I told you she didn’t care.” 

“Oh hush. Just shut up and fuck me.”

“With pleasure.”


	3. Anders and Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders wakes from a nightmare and begins to dwell on his life as Justice's host, and he and Justice have a discussion about their relationship with one another.
> 
> Mentions of Fenhanders, but the focus of this chapter is as the prompt requested.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter are: **Blood Content Warning.**

Anders tried not to think about the early days, after he’d joined with Justice.

Sometimes he tried not to think about them because of what he’d woken up to: a fresh, still not fully-healed burn scar in the center of his chest, his Warden armor broken and in tatters, covered in blood. Blood. So much blood. It had been in his hair, his teeth, on his tongue. Under his fingernails, stained on his skin. Maker. Maker, he didn’t even want to know what bit of something he’d spit from his mouth, more blood staining the snow. 

**_Anders. Enough. The past is behind us._ **

Anders jolted from sleep, finding himself having fallen asleep on the sofa, in the laps of his lovers, to be precise.

Hayden and Fenris were staring at him, looking concerned. 

Anders tried not to _dream_ about the early days either. But he couldn’t always help that.

“Are you all right, love?” Hayden asked gently, putting their book aside to run a hand through their hair. Anders nodded. “Yes. Just a bad dream. Though, one of the tame ones.” Hayden chuckled. “Best be thankful for those,” he murmured. “They’re rare, and often under-appreciated.”

“Too right,” Anders replied, sitting back up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Turning in early?” Fenris asked, gently touching Anders’ arm. Anders smiled at the gesture. Too often did he insist that he wasn’t great at giving comfort, and while yes, he was no wordsmith, his body was good at offering comfort all on its own. Anders nodded in answer to his question.

“Yes. I think I’ll go get something to eat and the head to bed. It’s been a long day.” He kissed his lovers, once to chase away the remnants of fear from his dream, and a second time to kiss them goodnight. He left the the library and headed for the kitchen, where Orana was all too happy to fix him a plate of things to take with him to the room he shared with Hayden and Fenris.

Once there, he settled at the desk and slowly savored his meal, not entirely sure he wanted to go back to sleep just yet. Not after that dream. He sighed deeply.

**_Anders. Do not dwell those early days, please. There have been better days, since. Have there not?_ **

Anders hummed as he let the rumble of Justice’s voice roll through his mind.

Once, he hadn’t been able to hear it. Now it sounded like he remembered it, from after the spirit had been dragged through the sundered Veil along with his Commander and their companions, all deep and rich roughness with just a touch of condescension. 

_**I have not been condescending as of late**_ , Justice grumbled, and Anders laughed. “You’re doing it now, just a bit. But… that’s all right. You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t at least a little condescending. It reminds me that I haven’t… you know. Hurt you. Corrupted you. Like… like I thought I had.”

The spirit shifted uneasily under the strange combination of appreciation and regret. Justice still struggled with his more complex emotions sometimes, but since Hayden had helped them come to an understanding…

“But yes. You’re right. There have been better days since our Joining.”

Days where, even before they hadn’t been able to speak properly to one another and the clinic was free of people who needed healing, sometimes Anders would get an itch or a thought might worm its way into his head. He might have a desire that was… not quite his own, but something he knew he’d enjoy, like taking a hot bath for half an hour longer than necessary or going out of the city, usually with the purpose of coming back with a basket full of elfroot and other things, but if he came back with only a basket half full, he still came back feeling pleased. Sometimes, when it rained, Anders might feel the need to go to the few places where Lowtown met Darktown and he’d go sit and watch.

“I never used to really… _appreciate_ those things, you know? Like the feeling of the warm water on my skin, and how silky the soap made it feel. How just the knowledge of being clean lightened my mood and made the next day just a little easier to work through. The sound of the rain as it made its own kind of music just drip, drip, dripping all across the city. 

“And when I went out to collect herbs, sometimes I’d take off my socks and boots just to feel the dirt between my toes. And the grass. The smell of the flowers. The sheer blueness of the sky. All of it just… different. You taught me to see all that. I mean, I’ve always known that being able to enjoy such things was a thing that only true freedom could bring, but you… you see those things in a way that I can’t because this world is so different than the one you came from.”

_**Different, yes. Grisly and horrid one moment… and precious and beautiful the next. I once lamented the fact that this world doesn’t change like the Fade… but it does. In a way.** _

Anders nodded.

“I’m still sorry it’s not home,” he confessed.

_**Nonsense. It might not have been the home I came from, but it is my home now. You are my home, Anders, and your home is mine until the end of our days. Even if your death should not return me to the Fade, I would be happy to vanish from this existence, knowing that I shared a portion of your life in such a wondrous place.** _

Anders felt his chest tighten as tears pricked at the edges of his eyes.

“Thank you Justice. That… that means a lot.”

And Anders felt that perhaps now… his dreams might not be so bad.


	4. Anders and Karl (Anders/Karl Thekla)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Karl does not die, and comforts Anders when he wakes from a nightmare about Karl being branded with the Mark of Tranquility.
> 
> Tags and warnings for this chapter include: **Canon Divergent AU, Tranquility Mention.**

It was dark when Anders woke, his heart thudding in his chest. He flailed and reached out, searching for something in the darkness…

“Anders?”

Gentle hands pulled at him, supporting him, bringing him against a chest and cradling him as he shivered and whimpered. A burst of magic brought a spark of magelight forth, hovering in the air above the bed. 

“Anders. It’s alright. You’re safe.”

Karl. That was Karl’s voice.

Anders swiftly turned around in the embrace that held him, his own hands reaching up when Karl’s face came into view. His fingers threaded through grey hair, first the bristly tufts of his beard, and then the wiry softness of the hair on his head. He stopped once, remembering the Tranquil brand from his nightmare, and rubbed his thumbs against the center of Karl’s forehead.

“You… you were Tranquil,” Anders sobbed, tears still falling down his face and dripping onto Karl’s robes. “I went to meet you with Hayden in the Chantry and you were Tranquil…”

Anders became insensible then, and it was all Karl could do to pull Anders tighter against his chest, rubbing his back through the threadbare cotton shirt he wore, pressing soft kisses against his hair.

“But I’m here now, Anders. I’m not Tranquil. I’m still myself.”

Anders hiccuped as he slowly calmed and his tears dried up. “…but we… we fought,” he continued. “Justice took over when I learned you’d been made Tranquil, and after the fight was over… you were yourself again. But… only for a moment. I… I had to kill you. You begged me. You said that all the music and the color in the world was gone and that you’d rather die a mage than live as a Tranquil… I–I… I held you. As you bled out. After I… I did as you asked.”

“Oh, Anders.”

Karl simply kept soothing Anders with gentle kisses and long, rhythmic strokes along the blond’s back.

“It’s alright now. It was just a dream.”

“I know,” Anders sighed, mostly calm at last. “It just felt… so real.”

Karl chuckled. “Yet another part of being a mage. Our connection to the Fade gives us a hyper-awareness in our dreams that makes them that way.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Anders drawled. “I remember. And look at you; you’ve not even been here for a day and you’re already giving me lectures again.” Karl frowned. “I don’t… mean to… exactly.” Anders simply laughed. 

“But it’s so you. Don’t ever change, love.”

Karl hummed noncommittally. 

“Speaking of your spirit, Anders…” 

Anders tensed. “I…” He sighed. “I know what you’re going to say, and I–”

“Do you really?”

“What?”

“Do you really know what I’m going to say?”

Anders was quiet for a while. Eventually, he sighed again and, very quietly, admitted, “…no? But… I… took a spirit into my soul, Karl. If… if we’re caught, you’ll just be put into a Circle again. But me? They’ll kill me. Or worse, they’ll make me Tranquil.”

“None of that matters, Anders.” Karl insisted, running a hand through Anders’ hair. “What you did was dangerous, yes. And perhaps a little foolhardy… but I know you, at least just as much as you claim to know me. You would not have done such a thing without reason, Anders. As a Spirit Healer, you probably thought you could handle it. Yet, regardless of the how it occurred, it brought you to me. Now, let us sleep a little while longer, yes? We’ll deal with everything else in the morning.”

Anders nodded and nestled himself tightly against Karl. Anders was still as Karl remembered him, all knobby-kneed and long limbed, though he was more densely muscled now and perhaps a touch on the thin side. 

As Karl dimmed the magelight a little and listened for the distant call of the Fade to signal that Anders had returned to his dreaming, he made a note to ask either the young Hawke or their dwarf friend, Varric, about arranging some extra food deliveries for the clinic. He wasn’t about to let his little firecracker starve himself just to feed the people of Darktown.

Though… he did have to wonder a little how the slightly self-centered boy he’d first fallen in love with had become this beautiful, brilliant man who cared so much about the poor and impoverished that he would sacrifice everything for them and ask for nothing in return.

Still. That could wait until morning.


	5. Anders and Hawke (Anders/Hawke)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hayden is trying to learn how to dance, and Anders helps.
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Flirting, Angst with a Happy Ending.**

Hayden sighed deeply as they flipped through the pages of a book Mother had given them a few weeks back. 

For all their skill in memorizing the best ways to cast their spells in battle (which, to Hayden, felt more like a dance than anything this book was trying to teach him felt), Hayden simply couldn’t seem to master these simple steps…

“Having trouble with a spell, Hayden?”

Hayden turned around to see Anders standing in library entranceway. They growled and tossed the book onto the sofa.

“No,” they replied, running a hand through their long, dark curls. “It’s a dance Mother wants me to learn. You’d think it’d be easy, you know? Like fighting.” They sighed again and leaned on the edge of the sofa, scowling at the book. “I’d set it on fire if I didn’t know Mother would yell at me for also setting the sofa on fire in the process. That and I really like this sofa myself.”

Anders chuckled, moving into the library and closing the door behind him.

“I’d be rather put out if you set it on fire too,” he purred, wrapping Hayden in a hug from behind. His thumbs stroked Hayden’s sides through their finery, and they leaned back against him in appreciation.

“You’d just be upset because we’ve had sex on this sofa. A lot.”

Anders chuckled again. 

“Well. You wouldn’t be wrong about that. But, you know… I do know a little about dancing. What steps are you trying to learn?”

“The Remigold,” Hayden answered glumly, then immediately craned their head back to try and fix Anders with a stare. “Hey. Wait. How do you know how to dance? And don’t give me that Spicy Shimmy bit,” they teased, winking and turning themselves in Anders’ embrace, “I know _that’s_ no dance.” 

Anders, who’d been previously grinning at Hayden, paused a for a moment at Hayden’s question. When, after a while, his face fell and he didn’t answer immediately, Hayden seemed to realize where Anders’ mind was.

“Oh! I–I’m sorry!” They gibbered, hands fluttering anxiously against their chest as they glanced away, embarrassed. “I should’ve known…”

“Hush, Hayden,” Anders interrupted them, gently pressing his forehead against theirs, forcing Hayden to look into Anders’ eyes. “It’s alright. I… well. There wasn’t a whole lot to do in the Circle. So many of us learned to dance to pass the time. And, as it so happens, one of the ones I learned was the Remigold.” He nuzzled his long nose against Hayden’s, causing the other to giggle.

“There’s that smile I love,” Anders said encouragingly. “Now, are you trying to learn to lead, or to follow?”

Hayden sighed deeply once more and rolled their eyes.

“Mother… isn’t as understanding as Father was. She knows… about… me. How I am. But I think sometimes she also misses being part of society, you know? And sometimes she tries to pair me with all of these single highborn ladies and I just… can’t. But I still love her and want to make her happy, so… ugh. Leading steps, I suppose?”

Anders nodded, his gaze steady and sympathetic.

“Of course, darling. Whatever you need.”

He pulled Hayden away from the sofa and out into a more spacious part of the library. “I’m sure your mother doesn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. She knows how much being with me means to you.” Hayden nodded in response. “Yes, I thought as much. And, um… thank you. For doing this.”

Anders simply smiled and helped Hayden position their hands in the right places to begin a dance.

“I’ve got a pretty young mage in my arms. I think it’s me who should be thanking you,” he chuckled.

And as Hayden’s bright laughter filled the air, the two of them began to dance.


	6. Anders and Fenris (Anders/Fenris)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Fenris accompanies Anders out on a trip to collect some more herbs for the clinic, and the two have a discussion about the foundations of their relationship.
> 
> Hints of a Fenhanders relationship are mentioned, but the focus is on the Fenders. :)
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Solitary Confinement Mention.**

Anders sat back against the cave wall and watched the rain, feeling quite warm and content. Nestled next to him was Fenris, fast asleep, curled against his side with his legs wrapped around Anders’. 

Nearby, a little kettle of soup simmered slowly over a small fire.

Anders looked away from the rain and down at Fenris, marveling at the sight. It still amazed him sometimes that this was possible for them now… that it had been possible for them at all, really.

Of course, the source of that possibility was their shared love, Hayden Hawke, but said fellow mage seemed to breathe life into such possibilities wherever they went, like it was effortless. (Anders knew that this wasn’t the case, but all too often it simply seemed that way, what with the kind of people they were.)

After all, he and Fenris had hated each other since the day they met. (Or at least Fenris had, he thought. Anders had been utterly captivated by Fenris from the moment he watched him descend down the steps into the alienage and ripped out the heart of the slaver who’d been hunting him.) But this morning when he’d announced that he needed to go out of the city to collect more elfroot and embrium, Fenris had actually volunteered to go along.

“It’s not often that it’s just the two of us,” he’d said when Anders had asked him about it after they’d arrived at the place Anders usually gathered his herbs from.

“Still worried that it’s just Hayden who makes us get along?”

Fenris nodded, having knelt down next to Anders, helping him gather the herbs. “Aside from our… mutual attraction, I fail to see what else we might have in common.”

Anders hummed idly in response. 

“Perhaps we have more in common than you think.”

And so Anders told him about a few of the punishments he endured after his failed escapes from the Circle, and asked if Fenris might have any similar experiences. It surprised Fenris that he did indeed have many such experiences, though he also found that he was reluctant to share them.

“That’s fine,” Anders hushed him when Fenris became distressed that he couldn’t be as blunt about his experiences as Anders. “I’ve had many, many years to come to terms with what happened to me. And for some, I had people to help me. Karl…” A lump caught in Anders’ throat, but he took a deep breath, cleared his throat and continued with, “…Karl helped me a lot, especially after the year I spent in solitary confinement.”

Fenris swore. “A… a year, Anders?”

Anders looked up, and Fenris’ expression was some sort of mix of fear and awe. “I… I knew slaves who had been sentenced to solitary confinement,” he whispered, the words just sliding off of his tongue without thought, “I’d even taken some myself to be confined… the worst I’d seen was one who’d been sentenced for six fortnights who completely lost his mind. That’s… what, three months? A mere fraction of the time you spent… alone…”

“It wasn’t always alone,” Anders said bitterly. Fenris sat very still.

“Did… were you…”

“Sometimes. But sometimes the tower mouser, Mr. Wiggums, would come to visit. He was infinitely better company than the Templars, that’s for sure. Though… I’m not sure if some of the times were visions of demons or Fade spirits? For either Mr. Wiggums, or the Templars, to be honest.”

Fenris shook his head in disbelief. 

“I just… wonder how you are still…”

“Sane?”

“Functional.” A small smirk lifted one edge of his lips. “I’m not entirely sure about the sane bit.” Anders huffed. “Well, I did take a Fade spirit into my soul later on, so… you may be right on that front.” 

Fenris frowned at him again. “Anders…”

“It’s alright, Fenris.”

“No. It’s not. I may not like the fact that you are… how does Hayden put it? Sharing headspace with a Fade Spirit of Justice? But I don’t know the reasons behind why you did it, and therefore cannot accurately judge you for it.”

“But you did, once.”

“I’m trying to tell you that I don’t… anymore.”

Anders stared at him, blinking rapidly.

“Oh.”

And for a moment all was quiet. Then, after a few more tense moments of the two of them sifting through the brush for herbs, Anders said quietly, “And I’m sorry for every time I’ve ever tried to compare your experiences to mine.”

“Thank you. But… you’re right. Some of them are indeed similar and that we both have more in common than we thought.”

They didn’t get much of a chance to speak much after that, because shortly afterwards the skies decided to open up and the two of them had to make a break for a nearby cave… which they were currently staying in. Lucky for them, there were several clumps of dry brush and wood lying about, enough to make a fire with. And here they were, cooking up some lunch and listening to the rain.

It didn’t feel like it was going to let up for awhile, Anders thought. But that was fine. He and Fenris probably had many more things in common than what they had discussed today…

…but he was certainly looking forward to what such discoveries might bring.


	7. Anders Crackships (Anders/Sebastian Vael)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which an unexpected visitor shows up at the clinc, offering food, supplies, and a friendship that has the possibility of becoming _more_. Anders can only hope he doesn't screw things up.
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Acquaintances to Friends, Scars, Allusions to Rape/Torture.** Also Sebastian being a cheeky lil' shit and stealing the Chantry's wasted resources to help Anders' clinic. :P

One morning in the early days of what was looking to be a hard winter for Kirkwall, a knock came at the clinic doors.

Anders, still not having drunk his morning tea or even dressed fully for the day, shuffled, grumbling and mumbling all the way to the doors, in nothing but his boots, trousers, and a scratchy woolen blanket.

“What?” he snapped as he opened the door. “Hawke, if you’re trying to get me to go out to the Bone Pit in this weather–”

Anders’ words caught in his throat when he caught sight of the person standing just outside the clinic doors.

Sebastian Vael was standing there, a basket that Anders thought smelled of bread and something earthy was slung across one arm which also helped support the other underneath the worn red blankets that he carried. He was also wearing his chantry robes without any of the sigils that marked his station as a Brother instead of his armor, though his bow and quiver were slung across his back. Anders frowned at him.

“What… are _you_ doing here?”

“Shouldn’t et be obvious?” The rouge replied in kind, shifting from one foot to another uncomfortably. “I’d, ah… like ta put these down somewhere. Might I come in?” 

Anders, though still thoroughly confused about the entire situation, did as he asked and let Sebastian through, closing the door behind him. After watching Sebastian set the basket and blankets on a nearby table, he eventually found his voice again.

“So what… what brought this on?” he asked, not sure what answer he was expecting from the rouge.

“Ye were saying something last week about how the Chantry doesn’t do enough for the people of Darktown and that ye were worried ye didn’t have enough blankets to keep yer patients warm. I noticed that there was an unusual amount of worn blankets being set aside for disposal and… borrowed them.”

“You stole them.” Anders supplied.

Sebastian shrugged. “They were going to be torched, and they were still perfectly usable.” Anders noted with surprise that Sebastian actually sounded bitter about this, and not only that, but the bitterness was genuine if Anders was reading the other man’s furrowed brow and half-bitten lip correctly.

“So you brought them here.”

“Yes. And some food, too.” Sebastian began opening up the basket, which Anders took a few steps closer to examine as he tightened his blanket around himself a little more for warmth.

Inside was indeed a generous loaf of bread with some potatoes, carrots, and a few other vegetables. He stole a glance at Sebastian.

“Did you… permanently borrow these as well?” 

Sebastian chuckled sheepishly. “I might have, yes. For all the bulk your robes and coat give you…” –he gave Anders a brief once over– “…you’re really rather a wee bit thin, yes? But there’s enough here to make at least a single meal’s worth of soup for a good portion of Darktown and ourselves, if properly rationed. And–” here he rummaged through the food for something close to the bottom, “I’ve brought you these.”

Anders stared at the items Sebastian had procured: a single book, wrapped in plain, brown leather, and a few packets of seeds. Anders took the book in his hands gingerly, thumbing through it.

“This is… I know what this is. I’ve seen this book before in the Chantry library once, years ago. How did… did you steal this too?” He closed it and turned it over in his hands. “The cover’s different.”

“Actually, no. I did borrow the original from the library, but I put it back when I was finished transcribing the sections I needed. What you’re holding is only a fraction of the original. Just all the necessary pieces ta grow a few potatoes, carrots, and the like. I noticed this is one of the few places in Darktown with light.” He jerked he head in the direction of the windows. “And potatoes and carrots don’t need much.”

By now, Anders had put down the book and was staring at Sebastian in disbelief. “You… transcribed part of a book for me. You brought me food. Seeds. Blankets. I… just… why? You… hate me.”

Sebastian frowned, and tried to speak, but Anders held up a finger.

“No, don’t say you don’t, because I heard you talking to Fenris about turning me in!”

“I never said I wanted to,” Sebastian said quietly. 

Anders ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “You didn’t have to. You said it was your duty to tell the Templars. That just because Merrill and I are Hawke’s friends, we shouldn’t be allowed to walk free. Have you forgotten what Hawke is, or do I need to remind you?”

“But I never said that I hated ye, Anders. And if I have, I’m truly sorry for it.”

An awkward silence settled between them, and for a few tense moments, all the two men could do was stare at each other. Eventually, Anders managed to find it in him to break the quiet.

“I… I find it unlikely that you would lie to me about such a thing. And… yet… ugh.” Anders sighed, moving back around the table and past Sebastian so he could finish getting dressed. “Some part of me wishes you were. Because you should… hate me, that is.”

“What? Why do you say that?”

“I’m an abomination, Sebastian,” Anders replied bitterly as he turned around to face the archer. “I’m a mage, an abomination, and even if I wasn’t that, I was taught since my youth that my very existence is a sin against the Maker.” 

Anders hadn’t intended to get emotional over this, but he knew there were tears in his eyes. “By that definition, you should hate me.” And he turned around, removed the blanket from his shoulders, and bent down to put on a clean shirt before finishing his morning preparations. But behind him, there was a soft gasp, and he turned around to look at Sebastian again once the shirt was over his head and tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

“What is it now, Vael?” he asked tiredly.

Sebastian’s expression looked… like one of shock. “What?” Anders asked again, this time with concern. “What is it?”

It was a moment more before Sebastian seemed able to speak.

“I thought you said you were lucky in the Circle.”

Oh. The scars.

Anders shrugged, and he turned back to his tea, deciding to pour a cup for Sebastian, since he was here. 

“I’m alive. I’m not Tranquil. That’s lucky enough by my standards.”

That didn’t seem to help Sebastian, as the rouge simply made for a cot and sat down on it, expression troubled and distant. Anders sighed, deeply, walking over to sit across from Sebastian and offered him the cup of tea, which Sebastian took.

“Look. I don’t… I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but I can tell this knowledge disturbs you.”

“Of course it does, those were whip scars. And… not all of them were. That burn scar… that looked like it should’ve killed you.”

“Yes. It should have. To this day, I don’t know why it didn’t. I think Justice did something. But, the whip scars? I escaped from Kinloch seven times, Sebastian. There were punishments.”

“But… surely not..?”

Anders merely fixed him with a look, and the archer fell silent.

“I don’t have time to go into details, since I need to open the clinic soon. But, since you went out of your way to bring me extra blankets and food… do you think you could stay the day and lend me an extra pair of hands as well?”

Their eyes met then, and suddenly Anders found himself wondering how it wasn’t a crime for a pair of eyes to be such an enchanting shade of blue.

“I think I shall, yes. Whatever you need.”

And Sebastian came back to the clinic as often as he could. It wasn’t always consistent, and once he hadn’t been able to get away for a week or so because Elthina had noticed how much time he’d been spending away from the chantry.

Despite these occasional periods, Sebastian always came back.

One morning after a week of unusually heavy sleet and snow, Sebastian came with several gently used shirts and trousers and thrust them into Anders’ hands. It was hard to tell whether the flush on his cheeks was from the cold or a blush, and while things had definitely changed between the two of them since that first morning, Anders was loathe to change it further for risk of jeopardizing… _whatever_ had replaced their previously antagonistic acquaintanceship.

“What… are these?” Anders asked him, feeling his own cheeks grow flush.

“Shirts and trousers. I’ve been issued new ones, and I figured we were of the same size. You’re a bit slimmer, I think, but they should fit ye.”

“Wh… why?”

“Yer own’ve been a bit threadbare fer ages. Ye needed new ones. And don’t ye try giving ‘em away to anyone! I’ll know!”

Sebastian fixed him with a soft glare that brokered no room for argument, and Anders kept and wore the clothes as instructed. They were soft and warm, and yes, a little too big on him, but not by much. Sebastian had been making sure he ate more, and took care of himself better. They still danced around some things, like Justice and Anders’ manifesto, but Sebastian was strangely more willing to speak with Anders about these things –sometimes at length– if he was in the mood to do so.

Anders hoped that the feelings stirring in his breast weren’t what he thought they were, but probably were, knowing him.

It seemed, though, that the feelings were mutual, whatever they were.

And so he did something he hadn’t done in a long time and he prayed for the Maker’s guidance. He prayed for strength to endure the coming trials, for wisdom, that he might discern a better way to pave a road to freedom for his people, and for luck. Because Maker knew he needed that, especially where love was concerned.


	8. Anders and the Warden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Rashia Amell reflects over her childish obsession with Anders while she visits him in his Kirkwall clinic along with a mutual furry friend of theirs.
> 
> Tags and warnings for this chapter include: **Canon Fix**. Also, Rashia is super protective of the feathermage. :3

When Rashia was little, Anders was like a legend.

The very idea that even any one of them would attempt to escape the Circle was almost unthinkable, inconceivable. And Anders did this more than once. She would watch him from a far, across the mess hall, during classes with Wynne, in the dormitories at night when Jowan had finally stopped trying to get her attention and let her “read” her book in peace.

She’d stick her face in her books and peer over the edge of the binding, under her lashes, just to watch the fair-haired healer and his friend from afar.

Karl. Poor boy was only sixteen when he stared going grey.

And it seemed that Karl was Anders’ only friend. 

At least his only friend that he talked to. Just about everybody in the Circle was his friend: apprentices, Templars, even a few of the enchanters and (at least so it was rumored) a Senior Enchanter whom no one knew the name of, but they were more the sort of friend you snuck off behind the shelves or locked yourself in the storage rooms with. 

Being the resident escape artist made him a legend, yes, but it also made him a pariah. And that made Rashia’s heart hurt just a little.

And then Karl was transferred. Anders escaped a few more times. 

By the time Rashia had made her fatal error in helping Jowan find his phylactery and been conscripted by Duncan shortly afterwards, Anders had escaped six times. Only, she hadn’t seen him in a long time, which worried her. She could only hope he was merely serving his punishment somewhere in another part of the tower… because the alternative made her heart hurt even more.

Then there was Ostagar. The betrayal. Lothering. The Brecillian Forest.

It had been several months when she returned to the tower to call upon the Warden treaties for the aid of the mages. She didn’t see him then either. But she hadn’t really been looking. 

More months passed. She fell in love with Alistair. She killed Loghain in single combat. Slew the archdemon and rode off into the sunset with her fellow Warden. Sort of. They spent another month or so together after they’d all scattered to the winds. Even Zevran had left her for a time. 

And then she arrived at Vigil’s Keep.

It was raining. Of course it was. Rashia grit her teeth as she tried to see through the downpour. Mhairi was helpful, knowing the area the way she did. She liked Mhairi. She hoped this one survived the joining. 

They were attacked by darkspawn, and Rashia was surprised to note that the foul things had almost gotten the drop on them. How had that happened?

Alistair had taught her how to accurately sense them, and she’d grown even more accurate then he’d been able to be, so she knew that wasn’t the problem. But she didn’t have time to dwell on it, not when something had so obviously gone wrong. Still, it worried her that a _Warden Fortress_ had been _overrun_ by a single band of darkspawn. 

She helped a few soldiers get the medical supplies they needed before heading inside. And if she’d thought the outside was bad, the inside was worse.

By now she’d worked herself into a fury, and she was torching and freezing darkspawn left and right. Sometimes, when she got tired of casting, she drew her greatsword, Starfang, and she used the magic of the elven spirit to help her cleave their heads from their shoulders instead. 

“A-ha! There you are!” Called a familiar voice.

Oghren. 

“What… are you doing here?” Rasha asked, grateful to see him, though not so grateful to smell him. Well. At least he hadn’t changed, like she’d asked.

He chuffed, breathing a cloud of ale breath into her face. She didn’t bother trying to hide her discomfort; Oghren wouldn’t have noticed it to even be offended by it anyway.

“When these darkspawn showed up,” he replied, grinning at her, “I thought, “Just you wait until the new commander gets here and you’ll all be spitting teeth out yer arses!”” Rashia sighed softly and just gave him the universal look for, “Really?”

He didn’t seem to notice, and in fact continued with, “Followed the screaming, and sure enough, here you are. Good on ya!”

Apparently, according to Mhairi, he’d been here since before she’d left the keep to guide Rashia on her way there. He wanted to join the Wardens.

“Well, I’m not going to stop you,” Rashia said. “But we should probably secure the keep first.” Oghren chuckled, and belched. “Well what are we waiting for?”

They went down a series of hallways, killed more darkspawn. Looted the darkspawn. (“I still don’t understand why they bother carrying money,” Rashia muttered, “I mean, like, what are they for? Armor oil?” “Trophies, probably,” Mhairi supplied helpfully. “I know some giants in the Emerald Graves do that.” Oh. Well. That made much more sense.) Went down another hallway. There was a door at the end, and behind it, Rashia could sense magic being cast. Was there another mage warden still alive?

She turned the knob and pushed…

…and on the other side stood a mage wearing the tackiest set of mage robes she’d ever seen. Clearly not a warden, then. But they had their back to her, and they were torching a darkspawn with just their hands, barely keeping it at bay before eventually the damage grew to be too much and the darkspawn fell to the floor in a burning heap.

Rashia cleared her throat.

The mage jolted a little, turning around and wringing their hands. They were singed at the tips. Fire magic sometimes did that if your were too hasty with it. 

“I… ah. I didn’t do it.”

The mage was a man. Tall, blond. Wait…

“Hey! I know you from the Circle!” He grinned, but Rashia was too shocked to do the same. “Now, now, I know what they’ve been saying about me, but… ah, but this? Not my doing.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of a couple bodies in Templar armor. Judging by the injuries, they’d been killed by darkspawn.

“No,” she muttered, “I know darkspawn blade patterns. I believe you.”

He hadn’t seemed to have heard her, as he was still babbling about how Biff had gone down whilst fighting the darkspawn.

They exchanged pleasantries for a while, even introducing himself and blithely sharing his status as a wanted apostate. 

“I know who you are,” Rashia said evenly, meeting his eyes.

“Everyone knew who you were. Anders.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the faint sounds of more fighting and shouting could be heard over the storm. She fixed Anders with that commanding stare that had even worked on Sten and Shale now and again, and he straightened up instinctively.

“We’ve lost a lot of Wardens, and I need another fighter. Come help me, and I just might be able to help you.”

Then he followed her without a word, [and the rest was history](http://timesorceror.tumblr.com/post/145195662528/andersfmagewarden).

Yet several years later, Rashia sat inside a clinic in the bowls of Darktown. Perched on the edge of a cot, she watched as Anders once again took up the mantle of the Grey. The robes were thinner on him now, at least around the middle, but his muscles had somehow managed to grow more dense, not less, over his time away from the Order.

“So,” he asked her as he fastened the belt and adjusted the gloves. “How do I look?” Beside her, Ser Pounce-a-lot meowed loudly. She chuckled, rubbing the tabby’s head affectionately.

“You’re a little thin,” she said bluntly, “but Ser Pounce seems to agree that… you look good.” She gave him a quick once over as he walked over to sit on the cot across from hers. As soon as he was comfortable, Ser Pounce-a-lot leapt from his current position into Anders’ lap, and curled up there to begin purring up a storm. 

“I still can’t believe he’s here,” Anders murmured, running his fingertips through the tabby’s short fur. “I still can’t believe you’re here. It’s like seeing a legend come to life.”

Rashia chuckled. “That’s funny. I used to think of you like that.”

“What, me?” Anders stared at her, dumbfounded.

“Yes you. When we were in the Circle together. All of those escapes… all the stories you told… I remember stalking you after you’d finished enduring whatever punishments you’d been given, hanging on your every word so that I knew I was hearing it from the source. I knew you probably exaggerated some things, but if I heard them from you and not, say, Jowan, then I was less likely to hear about you “encountering a dragon after you’d run across the frozen Calahad” or something of that nature.”

“Huh. Really? I… I don’t know whether to be flattered, or…”

Rashia snorted, and then briefly descended into giggles. “I would not have called my behavior back then very flattering. But still, I thought of you as a legend nonetheless. Seeing you at the keep after slaying an Archdemon sort of… dismissed any notions I might’ve had about that, though, considering how I found you.”

“Oh yes, standing literally red handed over some burning darkspawn and dead Templars,” Anders deadpanned.

“I knew you hadn’t killed them, you know. Of course, if you’d been able to shut up for ten seconds you might’ve heard me say that.” She grinned at him. He scowled, but it didn’t stay. “I was never very good at that. I’m still bad at it. Even with Justice in my head.” He paused, adding, “Especially with Justice in my head.”

Rashia just hummed softly.

“Well, if I’m a legend come to life, then you’re a miracle, you know? I’d come home to the keep, first to find you missing, then dead? And then suddenly Stroud shows up with a girl who says she’s my cousin who both tell me that you’re not dead, you’re very much alive and living here in Kirkwall. After reading those reports and seeing the sketches… I had to come see you for myself. To make sure that you were really you.”

Anders was quiet for several moments as he focused on Ser Pounce.

“I was afraid for a long time, of Wardens coming for me. That they’d arrest me and kill me… us.” Little blue cracks of lightning spiderwebbed across his skin, and immediately she took his hands in hers, forcing him to meet her eyes once more as she’d done all those years ago.

“I’m not going to do that to you. In fact, I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep you here, and keep you safe. I’m not going to fail you this time, even if it means giving my life. And I’m going to help you and your cause. Both of you. Anders. Justice. Just… don’t do anything stupid again, and maybe you’ll live long enough to become a proper legend yourself. Alright?”

Anders, stunned speechless, could merely only nod in return.

Rashia, satisfied that she’d gotten through to them both, released their hands and leaned back again, glancing over at the pot they’d left to simmer on the fire in the back.

“Now, let’s see what we can do about putting more meat on those bones, hm?”

She got up, and Anders followed, carrying Ser Pounce-a-lot in his arms.


	9. Anders and the Chantry Explosion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders and Hawke convince Sebastian of Anders' innocence, and they all go to the Gallows to defend the mages... together.
> 
> This was noted in this original post, but this fic diverts from canon in that Anders is not directly tied to the Chantry explosion. I’ve borrowed a plot device from [Nikki66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikki66/pseuds/Nikki66) that involves send letters to noble families. I just really like the idea, even if it doesn’t stop the Meredith/Orsino conflict in the end. Because of course there has to be drama. ;) 
> 
> Also, Fenhanders is definitely a thing here, but the Chantry boom was the prompt focus.
> 
> Tags and warnings for this chapter include: **Canon Fix, Sebastian Positive.**

* * *

Hayden grasped Anders by his lapels, bringing the other mage sharply against their chest.

“I thought you abandoned this foolish endeavor!” Hayden shouted.

“I did!” Anders insisted, panicking. “I–I swear to you Hayden that I did! I don’t know what’s going on any more than you do!”

Hayden searched Anders’ eyes for anything other than the truth, but they could find no trace of deception. Hayden frowned, releasing Anders from their grip. They looked at the destruction of the world around them, the fire, smoke, and falling debris. Behind them, Sebastian howled. 

“Yer gonnae let ‘im go? He killed the Grand Cleric!” Sebastian pointed a finger at Anders. “Hawke, if you let him go–!”

Hayden fixed Sebastian with a hard, cold stare. They had to work at it, as the expression was not at all at home on their normally smiling face, but it was certainly effective at shutting the Chantry brother up.

“Anders did not cause this destruction, Sebastian,” they said, their voice as equally hard and cold as their stare. “Several months ago, we agreed to write letters to the families of Kirkwall and have Varric print as many as we needed. It seemed to have been working, but apparently it wasn’t enough!”

“The mage underground must have heard that Meredith had sent for the Right of Annulment,” Anders muttered, mostly to himself. “They likely panicked and decided to… to…”

“To do something stupid,” Fenris finished, crossing his arms. “Regardless, Hayden has already decided to stand up for the mages, so what are we doing just standing here? We should get to the docks so we can head off the Knight Commander before she reaches the Gallows.”

Hayden glanced away from their conversation to lock eyes with Sebastian.

“You can certainly go and turn tail back to Starkhaven if you like,” they said evenly, “and you can certainly try to raise and army to hunt us down if you wish. But I assure you, you will be the one in the wrong, as neither of us had anything to do with the mage underground’s decision to plunge this city into chaos. So either you go and do that, or you come with us and help put this city to rights!”

Hayden was breathing hard, most certainly red-faced. A few of the companions stepped back, never having seen the normally docile mage so angry before.

Sebastian was silent for a few moments before he spoke again. Hayden could see that he was visibly upset, tears still running down his face, little tiny sobs breaking up his breathing. Sebastian had genuinely loved Elthina, Hayden knew, and it was eating him up inside. Hayden sighed, letting go of their fury.

“Sebastian,” they repeated softly, “I don’t agree that Elthina was an innocent in this, but I know her death has upset you. You do not have to fight with us, but trust me when I say that making a vow to kill Anders, Fenris, and myself will not make that pain go away. I killed the man who murdered my mother and I was a wreck for weeks, even with Anders’ and Fenris’ support.” Hayden took a step closer and was about to say more before they heard Anders speak.

“Sebastian. You have every right to hate me. Who I am, what I am, whatever. I have been no friend to you, and I’m sorry for it. But there are children in the Gallows who will die at Meredith’s hands tonight if we do not intervene. Some of the adults may have been involved in the Underground, even from within, but the children are innocent.”

Hayden turned around to watch Anders speak, and the other mage approached them as he spoke to the archer.

“Please, for their lives at least, can we put our hate aside and see them safe tonight? Like you, I do not wish for more lives to be lost tonight. Please, come to the Gallows with us. You don’t have to, but you’re still one of us, and us misfits have to stick together.”

“I would decide soon,” Fenris reminded them. “Every moment we tarry is another moment we lose to the Templars.”

Sebastian, who was still shivering with tear tracks on his face, had seemed to find his composure at last. When he spoke, his voice was still heavily laced with that Starkhaven brogue, but it was steady and his gaze was clear.

“One of ye, am I?” He sniffed once, twice, before continuing. 

“Ah’ve ne’er really been part of… anythin’ like this. Back ‘ome, ah wasn’t needed, or wanted. ‘ere in tha Chantry, ah was needed, but no’ always wanted. It feels a little strange… bein’ both needed and wanted. Ah’m afraid I don’t ‘ave words to express mah thanks, but… ah ‘ave my bow.”

He pulled his grandfather’s bow from his back and gripped it tightly.

“An’ mah bow is yers, if you’ll still ‘ave me, Hawke. Fenris.”

He nodded at each of them in turn, then glanced at the mage.

“Anders. Let’s go fight for those innocents, yes?” Anders smiled slightly, and offered his arm to Sebastian, who clasped it firmly. A gesture of solidarity.

“Yes. Let’s.”


	10. Anders in Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Warden Commander Rashia Amell knows that even for her, the first few days were hell, so she looks after Anders in the hopes of easing his transition into a Warden.
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Claustrophobia, Touch Sensitivity.**

During the first few days, Anders was ravenous. For everything.

He craved food, touch, company… it all felt like too fast and too much. But Rashia was usually there to help him when he needed it. She watched him carefully, studied his moods. Without telling her when he was uncomfortable with her pressed against his side, she just seemed to know, and she’d scoot over and pass him a warm slice of bread or chuck of cheese, or she’d move ‘round the table and start talking to him. Sometimes at him. 

He noticed that she watched for those things in him.

“You don’t spend as much time with the others as you do with me,” he stated one evening when, once again, it was just the two of them in the larder munching on snacks. 

Rashia glanced up at him from her sandwich.

“I didn’t suffer in the Circle nearly as much as you did, but the first few days after were still hell.”

“Who says I suffered? The Templars took _great_ care of us.”

The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable. Still, she didn’t comment on it, merely narrowed her gaze at him for a moment before sighing and taking another bite of her meal. When she finished, she shrugged.

“Regardless, I got the impression from Alistair that my reactions to being a Warden were different than his. So that’s why I don’t keep an extra eye on Oghren or Nathaniel.” She chased down the bit of sandwich with some ale. 

“Not that either of them need, or in Nate’s case, _want_ any looking after.”

Anders snorted. “Yeah, I’d like to see you try to do this for him. He’d probably try to kill you.”

Rashia laughed, shaking her head.

“With his words, maybe. And, yeah. I’d like to see that too.”

And then she refilled her mug with more ale.

* * *

Sometime between then and their departure date for the city, Rashia had dragged the three of them down to the tunnels beneath the Keep that led into the Deep Roads.

Anders hated it here. It was too close, too dark, too–

_Psst! Fisss…_

Light. Rashia held a tiny oil lamp in her hands, the kind that one affixed to the hip side of one’s belt, or at the top of a staff. She held it out to him, gingerly.

“I’m sorry that it’s so dark down here,” she addressed him. “And… that the walls are so close together. Can’t do much about the close thing, but I can give you this… if it helps.” 

He took it with shaking hands which she helped to steady. 

“Easy. We’ll be out of here before you know it, alright?”

Her eyes were so soft, so deep. So full of emotion. They also reflected a fire reminiscent of the flame burning inside of the lamp she was currently helping him to loop through his belt buckles. 

“Do you have trouble with the tunnels too?” he asked her quietly, hoping neither the archer nor the dwarf heard him. She smiled, but there was just a little hesitation in that smile and then there was an almost imperceptibly brief nod of her head as she leaned in close to whisper.

“Yes, just a little. I’ve spent time in the Deep Roads before, looking for this crazy dwarven Paragon and the Anvil she was after. We were down there… a long time. I thought we’d never see the sky again. It was terrifying. Especially after that fight with the broodmother…”

She’d finished helping him with the lamp, but had gone still, eyes glassy.

“Hey,” he said shortly, hoping to bring her out of whatever memory she was trapped in, “What’s a… what’s a broodmother, exactly?”

She startled a bit, blinked rapidly, and then snorted and scoffed.

“Maker. I pray you never find out.”

“Hey, boss!” Oghren called out to them from up ahead. “Are you and the skirt done fooling around?”

“I’m a skirt too, if you’ve forgotten,” Rashia called back icily. 

There was silence for a few moments before Oghren chuckled nervously. 

“Heh. Uh… well. Right. Sorry, I just forget that sometimes, since you wear armor an’ stuff like a normal person.”

Rashia just rolled her eyes.

“You think maybe if I wore armor he’d stop calling me a skirt?” Anders asked her. She shrugged. “Maybe. It took him weeks to stop calling me that after I started. But… maybe. Gotta get you fitted for a set of Warden robes first, and not this gaudy Tevinter nonsense.” She wrinkled her nose at him.

“Hey! I like the feathers!”

“I like feathers too, but not when they make you look like you just escaped from a Circle.” 

He raised a puzzled eyebrow at her.

“You know I’ve actually done that? Like… seven times now?”

She just smiled at him.

“I remember. But you’re not with the Circle anymore, you’re a Warden now. It’s time you looked like one.”

He stared after her as she walked back to the others, and he quickly followed in her wake, all fears about where they were forgotten in the back of his mind. Now his thoughts were occupied with the strange feeling of warmth in his chest that threatened to bring tears to his eyes… but he’d have to save those for later, when the dwarf and the archer weren’t around.

They’d never let him live it down if he cried in front of either of them.

At least… not while Rashia was around.


	11. Anders in DA2 (Anders/Fenris/Hawke)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hayden finds a peculiar set of robes stashed in one of Anders' seldom used storage units, which they promptly ask the other mage to try on... in private. And then Fenris comes home and joins in the fun. 
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **The Tit Robes, Corsetry.**

Hayden was sifting through his things when he arrived at the Clinic after an afternoon spent running a few errands in Lowtown.

“Ah… Hayden? What are you doing?”

They glanced back at him at the sound of his voice, but they almost immediately turned back to what they’d been doing when he walked in.

“Sifting through your things,” they said a matter-of-factly.

Ah, Hayden. Always so blunt and truthful.

“Yes,” Anders said slowly, putting down his things on a nearby table. “I see that. But… I think my real question is… why?”

Hayden chuckled. 

“I noticed that your trousers and undershirts were getting a bit threadbare recently. I was making sure that you still had a few good pairs… or, if you didn’t, I was going to take measurements to purchase new ones for you.” They turned back again briefly to wink at him before they moved to the small armoire Anders had somehow acquired to store a few things when he’d first settled into the clinic. He didn’t use it often these days, though he couldn’t recall why, exactly…

“And, you know,” Hayden continued as they began to sift through the dusty linens, “as much as I appreciate it when you go… _without_ …” –another chuckle– “…I’m not so certain that all of Kirkwall will? Or, if they do, I fear I shall become terribly jealous and may have to resort to drastic measures to keep them off you.” Their tone was light and teasing, and it made Anders smile to hear Hayden prattle on so. At least until…

“Hey, what’s this? A set of robes? Ooh, what a pretty shade of green! Why are these hiding in here, huh?”

Anders looked up sharply, suddenly remembering precisely what it was he’d stored in that armoire.

“Um, Hayden, uh… wait–”

Too late. Hayden was already pulling out the garment and laying it on another table so they could run their hands over it.

The robes (if they could indeed be called that) were mostly like the standard robes in that they had a series of crossing belts, unnecessary bust ties, and of course, feather pauldrons. They lacked one crucial component, however, and this hadn’t gone unnoticed by Hayden.

“Well, well. Why have you been hiding these?” They said, trailing one finger over the large golden hoop that was suspended between the bust the collar that was certainly not enough to cover… well, anything.

Anders just shifted in place, feeling his face burn so hot he was sure he must be nearly beet red with embarrassment. 

“Um, w–well…”

“Would you… consent to wearing them? Just for me, that is. We don’t even have to show Fen.” They picked the robes up in their arms and slowly sashayed up to him, their hips swaying a little with each step. “Please, Anders? Please? I want to see if you’re as fetching in them in reality as you are in my mind.”

Anders shuddered, but this time it wasn’t from embarrassment.

“Oh, Hayden,” Anders breathed, “you really know how to sweet talk a man, don’t you?” Hayden just grinned at him hungrily.

* * *

Later that night, Hayden was waiting on their bed, sprawled over the duvet like a cat and wearing nothing but a red silk corset with black lace and matching smalls. Anders was behind a changing screen that they’d drug in from an unused washroom, putting on the robes as they’d agreed.

The screen was mostly just for the purposes of the reveal, though.

Hayden loved the anticipation.

“Are you almost done yet?” They purred, craning their head back against the pillows, luxuriating in the feel of the fabrics against their skin. “I fear if you don’t finish soon, I might perish from the tension!”

Anders snorted. “Such a dramatist you are Hayden,” he laughed. “Well, I suppose I can’t very well let the Champion of Kirkwall die before they see me in these ridiculous things…” He sighed softly.

“Alright, I’m coming out now.”

Hayden lifted their head and propped themselves up against the pillows, eager to watch as Anders came from around the screen. 

First, they saw the soft swathes of jade green swish around the corner, their eyes trailing up Anders’ form, up and over the leather belts, the tightly strung bust ties, completely ignoring the feather pauldrons entirely in favor of the lovely chest window that the robes provided.

“Ooh,” they hummed appreciatively, “you put in the nipple piercings, too…”

Anders padded over to the edge of the bed, putting his hands on his hips. The muscles in his chest stretched and flexed with the movement, causing his perfectly framed pectoral breasts to shift enticingly, gold nipple rings glinting softly in the firelight. Hayden now noticed the light fringe of fur around the edges, and was suddenly struck with the desire to run his lips across it, with their nose just brushing the skin of Anders’ chest.

“Well,” Anders chuffed gently, “I figured if I was going to be wearing these, then I might as well, you know?”

Hayden laughed and was about to say something in reply when there was a familiar metallic tap against the door before it opened. Anders’ eyes widened and he turned around instinctively, having completely forgotten what he was wearing.

“Good evening,” Fenris began, as he usually did. “Sorry I was so… late.”

He’d looked up then, and had noticed immediately what Anders was wearing. Suddenly Anders seemed to remember what he was wearing too, and he shuffled a bit, though with the hungry look that Hayden could just glimpse that Fenris was giving him, they doubted his restlessness was from embarrassment.

“Where… did you find that?” Fenris rumbled, taking off his gauntlets and armor as he approached, setting them off in their usual place.

Hayden chuckled sultrily. 

“I found them in his clinic this morning. Apparently, he’d, ah… borrowed them from a fellow warden mage and neglected to return them. I requested that he wear them tonight, just to see if he looked as good in them as I thought he might.” They flashed Fenris a smile. They also watched with appreciation as Fenris ran his hands along Anders’ form, eventually cupping Anders’ breasts and –from the sounds that Anders made afterwards– had begun thumbing his nipples. Slowly, and only just enough to make Anders writhe, as was Fenris’ usual style.

“And?” Fenris asked Hayden as he stood there, idly playing with the other mage, and eyeing Hayden with smug smile. “Does he meet your expectations?”

Hayden hummed thoughtfully.

“Well… I haven’t seen him up close yet, sadly. Do you think you can help me remedy that?”

Then it was Fenris’ turn to chuckle.

“Oh. Yes, I think I can.”

And in the blink of an eye, Anders was next to Hayden on the bed, with Fenris advancing and crawling over him with a hungry gaze like the wolf he’d been named after. Once Fenris was chest level with them both, he leaned down, lips hovering mere inches above one of the already tight, swollen nubs.

“But I think we should do more than just look, shouldn’t we?” Fenris purred.

Hayden couldn’t have agreed more.


	12. Anders the Warden (Anders/Nathaniel Howe)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders learns that Rashia wasn't joking about the increased stamina thing. So he purchases a toy to help him out and hides in the library to wank, when he is discovered by a fellow Warden. 
> 
> The Nanders bit is sort of an afterthought because Anders is the focus of the drabble, but rest assured they most certainly have a good time after the "fade to black". ;P
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Anal Fingering, Dildo Usage, Grey Warden Stamina, (Aluded to) Double Penetration.**

In addition to the many things that Rashia had warned him about that first night after he’d woken up from his Joining, he’d discovered that she hadn’t been lying about that… increased stamina bit. 

The first time he’d decided to jack off, he’d been in a tent by his lonesome, just, you know, doing his thing. But after he was done, leaning back against against the fabric of his sleeping pallet with his spend running down his hand and splattered across his abdomen, he was surprised to discover that he was still hard and still very much aroused.

He groaned, and that was when the tent flap opened up and he let out an uncharacteristically high-pitched yelp as he tugged at the blankets to cover himself, feeling the roughness of the blanket against his skin.

He tried to bite back the soft moan as Rashia stared at him, blinking owlishly. It took her a moment to take in the scene of his flushed face, the blanket, and his cum-covered hand, and she smirked at him.

“Finally got around to wanking, did you?” she teased. “How long have you been going at it?”

He blinked at her. “H–How long?”

She stared at him, still with that smarmy smirk on her face. “I did tell you that we had increased stamina in _all_ things, remember?” She chuckled, and that smirk morphed into a wolfish grin as she looked him over again. 

“Huh,” Anders huffed, nonplussed. “I thought you were kidding. Well… care to help me out with this?” He returned her grin, and she responded with a soft chortle. “I’d love to, but I think I hear Nate and Oghren coming back from scouting the area. Try to keep quiet and I’ll keep them distracted?”

“Maybe I’ll still be busy when you come to “fetch me” for dinner?” he said, waggling his eyebrows. She just sighed and shook her head, leaving him to continue with his wanking.

* * *

He’d gone on so long that he nearly blissed himself out with how many orgasms he’d wrung from just his hands, and oh, sweet Maker, the sensations he’d felt when he’d started fingering himself after a couple of orgasms? 

He’d absolutely needed to get a toy from the market in Amaranthine, because he just _ached_ to be filled with more than just fingers after a few of those mind-numbing orgasms. So, the next time they were in the city, he’d excused himself from the party for a bit while Rashia simply smirked at him when he went in the direction of the shop he’d seen some things at the last time they were there and… he purchased one.

And then came the library incident.

He’d decided to take it upon himself to see if he could wear himself out faster with the toy… but he wanted to do so someplace comfortable, and while he was sharing a bed with their commander, it was still her bedroom and he didn’t want to sully the sheets with a wanking session gone awry.

No, he needed someplace else, someplace that was still comfortable, but also out of the way… and that was when he remembered the library.

He knew that he wasn’t going to be taken out on the next trip out of the keep, and so he’d likely have the run of the place for a few days. Good. Plenty of time to have a wank session, clean up, and have no one be the wiser.

So, a few days after Rashia had gone off with Velanna, Oghren, and Justice to do some scouting of the Knotwood Hills, Anders snuck off to the library around sunset. He had a giddy smile on his face, the toy stashed in his robes, and a towel draped across his arm. He slipped inside, closing the door behind him, and his eyes took in the layout before him.

For a keep’s library, it was of a decent size. The bookshelves were built to the ceiling, with rolling ladders fixed around the circular room. On the right, a large glass window overlooked the forests and the sunset, and in the center, down a small set of stairs, were smaller bookshelves interspersed with tasteful sofas and chaise lounges.

Anders dove for the first one he saw, sinking into it and hiking up his robes. As usual, he wore no smalls, and had already been approaching half hard to begin with. He gripped his cock at the base and moaned, closing his eyes and stretching out like a cat as he cast his slick spell and stroked.

It didn’t take long to wring out his first orgasm.

Thankfully, he’d had the presence of mind to hike his robes above his nipples so his cum was mostly splattered across his chest, with the rest joining the slick on his hands. As usual, he was still hard, and he let his fingers trail further down, massaging his perineum before fondling his balls, finally moving on to start fingering his entrance.

This. This was the best part. 

With still-slick fingers he worked himself open, enjoying the sweet burn of the stretch so much that he was almost surprised when his second orgasm washed over him. “Sweet maker,” he breathed, “this toy better be worth the gold sovereign I paid for it…” 

Anders had to reach underneath him to pry the toy from the confines of his robes, but he managed it and slicked it up without a thought. It was one of those polished stone ones, rather plain but sturdy and serviceable. _Very_ serviceable, at least if the deep-seated shiver of pleasure that ran up and down Anders’ entire spine was anything to go by.

He wondered, idly, what sort of picture he made, legs splayed, robes hiked up over his chest, covered in his own cum while still hopelessly hard and fucking himself on a polished stone dildo.

And that was when the library door opened and Nathaniel Howe walked through. Anders stilled, but he couldn’t stop his heavy breathing, and he watched as the sullen archer stopped dead in his tracks, the door slamming shut behind him with a heavy _thud_ as the book he’d been carrying dropped to the floor simultaneously.

“H-Hey,” Anders panted, his hips jerking a little as the dildo brushed his sweet spot. “You, uh… ah… want to help me out with this? ‘m trying to see how quickly if I can tire myself out.”

And then the other Warden did something Anders hadn’t expected.

Nathaniel cleared his throat, picked up the book he’d dropped, and set it back on one of the shelves. Afterwards, he turned back around, just in time to watch Anders come again from one particularly forceful thrust, but Anders had still yet to flag even just a little.

Then he met Anders eyes and said in that sultry voice of his, “Do you think you could take both myself and that toy of yours?”

Anders grinned. “Perhaps. Come over here and help me find out.”


	13. Anders and Humor (Anders/Fenris)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders is in one of his better moods when Fenris initiates a conversation about using humor as a coping mechanism for trauma. 
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Bipolar Anders, Crude Humor.**

* * *

“You’re feeling playful today,” Fenris noted as Anders caught him by the waist and spun him around once before pulling him close.

“Mmm. Is that a problem?” Anders asked, pressing their foreheads together.

“Not really,” Fenris hummed, craning his neck so he could capture Anders’ lips with a kiss, beginning with a gentle nibble of the mage’s bottom lip and ending with a lingering brush of tongue. “Just makes me curious as to why. Your playful moods are far and few in between.”

“I’m always playful! Especially when we play cards with the others.” Anders pouted, sitting down on Fenris’ bed. Hawke was away at Sundermount doing a favor for Merrill and had decided to leave them behind to give them some much needed time together (and to spare them a trek up the mountain, of course).

Fenris joined him on the bed, pushing him back onto the covers gently so that they were lying next to each other with the bottoms of their legs danging off of the end of the bed.

“That’s different,” Fenris insisted. “When we play Wicked Grace with the others or Diamondback with Varric and Donnic, you like to make jokes… or you try to, anyway.” Anders chuckled, propping his head up with one hand so he could stare at Fenris, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Does it bother you? The way I use humor to avoid my problems?”

“You don’t avoid them. They live in your head all the time, I see it. I’ve lived it. But you can use your words to make it easier… all those times you’ve poked fun at some of the things people like to do in bed?”

“Oh. Like the heroic Templar and naughty apostate? Yeah, I suppose. But, like I’ve told you before, I’ve had years to get used to my past. You haven’t. Is that what’s bothering you? That you can’t be playful or happy because you’re still dealing with what happened to you?”

Fenris paused, really considering the question. Honestly, he’d never thought about it that way before. He knew he was capable of laughter, of enjoying himself while he was with his friends, with the people he loved. 

“I don’t know. Maybe. I think I just wish that I could have those moods too. Where I’m just… ridiculously happy.”

Anders grinned, and Fenris narrowed his eyes slightly. He knew that grin.

“I’m sure I could make a certain part of you… ri- _dick_ -ulously happy, huh?” 

Fenris groaned. 

“Ugh, you’re almost as bad as Hawke.”

Anders giggled. “I had to, sorry. It’s just the mood, really. But… my moods aren’t the sort of moods you want, Fen.” His grin softened into a fond but sad smile. “My lows are just as wild as my highs, and sometimes they can send me into some pretty dark places. You don’t want that. And, you know, you might not ever learn to joke about your abuses. I still have trouble speaking about my year in solitary confinement, nevermind trying to make light of it. It’s okay if you can’t do what I do. Just… learn to find happiness in the small things. Surround yourself with people who make you laugh.”

“Like you.” Fenris said pointedly. Anders flushed.

“Me? I make you laugh? When? Ok, you’ve gotta tell me. Was it when I told those fucknuggets from the other night to go suck on a fireball? Or maybe that time Sebastian fudged picking a lock and I told him that I was a mage, not a miracle worker? Or maybe that one time on the coast when we were getting it on and some bandits decided that was a good time to attack us and I asked you why they were so insistent on interrupting?”

“You do say a lot of ridiculous things when we’re in the middle of battle, mage,” Fenris agreed. “But I think my favorite one happens to be…” And here he trailed off, running a hand down Anders’ side until it got to his hips and shifted down, a finger lightly trailing the ‘v’ of his crotch.

“…want to see what’s under these robes?” Anders finished quietly, grinning.

“Yes please,” Fenris replied, and he rolled Anders over so that he could devour his mouth properly and begin the process of doing exactly that.


	14. Anders and Templars (Anders/Fenris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a smuggling operation from out of the Gallows turns sour, and Fenris comes to the rescue. Sort of. 
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Canon Typical Violence, Blood Content Warning.**

* * *

Anders swung the bladed end of the staff into the side of the Templar’s armor, right between the straps that held the side plates together. He grunted when he felt the chilling slickness of a Smite run over him, but he didn’t need magic to bring down this monster of a man.

He didn’t know this one’s name. Didn’t care to. 

The templar had betrayed his trust during this transfer in the tunnels beneath the city, and it was Anders’ job to keep the mages safe no matter whether he had his magic or not. He could feel Justice in his head, guiding his motions, the swings of the staff becoming smoother now, faster. More fluid. He spun on his heel and danced around the Templar as he knocked over a lantern with his foot, spilling the blazing oil across the ground and blinding him. Anders could only hear the cries of the Templar very distantly as he stepped around the man’s back side and jabbed between another chink in the armor, the butt of the blade sinking deep, jerking as it scraped bone.

The templar groaned, and blood began to seep through the wound quickly when Anders drug the hooked end of the wolf blade through the flesh. So. He hadn’t hit a pulse point (he wouldn’t be able to, he told the other part of himself –Justice, yes, I’m talking to you– because the blade wasn’t anywhere near a place like that), but he was wearing down the other fighter.

He spins around again as the templar gets up, turns around. It’s like a dance. A very deadly dance. A dance that demands your life if you fail to execute the proper steps.

 _ **I can be your teacher**_ , Justice tells Anders. _**Let me help.**_

Anders let Justice seep through, just enough so that they were hovering on that edge of oneness that happened so very rarely. His heart pounded, his blood rushed through his ears. His vision swam with a distant blue-red haze that blurred into purple.

And then a brilliant flash of blue streaked across the battlefield to join in the fray, and even through the haze of his battle blood lust, Anders could taste the spice on his tongue, his skin prickling with the feel of the Fade and the buzzing of lyrium nearby. Fenris was here, somehow, and was helping him fight. Not that he’d needed to, since the Templar was down already, the fire from the oil lamp catching on his clothing and flesh and causing him to scream…

A little of Anders’ mana returned just in time for him to silence the Templar before more came running. He breathed out slowly, Justice retreating as he whacked the back of the templar’s head, planted his staff in the ground, and finally leaned against it. He glanced over at Fenris, panting harshly.

“So… why did… why did you come to help? It’s not like you to assist with my trips out here.” He gave Fenris an accessing stare. “I mean, this _was_ a job for the Underground, if you remember me telling you as much this morning.”

Fenris shrugged, and turned back around to where a young woman, heavily pregnant, was huddled in the arms of an elven man. Both of them were obviously mages, wearing Circle robes and –at least the man was– carrying a staff.

“Does it matter, mage?” Fenris muttered, offering the two mages a hand up.

“It does,” Anders replied in kind, “but perhaps that sort of thing can wait until later.”

Fenris looked back at the dead, burning Templar. “What about him? Wasn’t he your contact?” Anders shook his head. “Contact of a contact. I’ll have to let them know that he’s not coming back…” Fenris frowned. “Should probably clean up. Do you have any more mana yet?” Anders’ brows knit together in concentration. 

“I think… I think so,” he huffed quietly.

It was like dragging sap from a tree, but he managed it. He commanded the fire to consume faster, so that the organs, flesh, and other flammable bits of the man were turned to ash. Then the fire died off, leaving only the partially melted pieces of armor behind. Fenris helped Anders stash them and the bones of the skeleton in a nearby crate. While the armor was no longer usable, the metal was good for selling, which would help out the clinic, if nothing else. 

“Well,” Anders said as they secured the crate, “if nothing else then the man will have performed some sort of service this way.”

“Oh, you think?” Fenris shot back, herding the skittish mage couple so that they were between the two of them, with Anders leading the way. He had enough mana now to cast a small light, since his lamp was out of oil. Despite being frightened, the mages held it together until they arrived back at the clinic, where Anders helped the woman settle onto one of the cots with the elf –her partner, Fenris assumed– sitting nearby.

Anders also busied himself with collecting some clothes for the couple that weren’t robes –too much attention, he insisted– that he hoped would help them on their way out of the city. Anders turned to the couple, two sets of clothing in his arms.

“You’ll have to change into of these at some point. I know those robes are comfortable,” he winked, offering them a small smile, “but they’ll out you as a mage before you can say ‘Templar’, I promise you.” The elven mage nodded, glancing behind him at Fenris, his fingers trembling as he took the clothing.

“How long will we be able to stay here?” he asked worriedly. “She’s… Elaine…”

“She’s close, I know,” Anders told him. Anders knelt down next to the human woman, so slight she might’ve been mistaken for an elf, and ran his hands over her belly, his fingers full of healing magic. Once he was done, he looked up at the man. “The underground took care of your phylacteries, yes?”

The man nodded. “We were told they would. I couldn’t have done it myself.”

Anders spoke with the woman for a few moments longer and sighed when he stood up again.

“You’re lucky to have gotten out when you did. She’s very close indeed. If she hasn’t gone into labor by the end of the week, then I’ll see what I can do about inducing it, because I can’t give you much more than a few days afterwards to recover.” The woman nodded in understanding. “Of course, healer. Even a half day would be too much too ask, and yet you continue to offer more and more than we need.”

Anders just offered her a sad smile.

“I would do the same for anyone. Mage or not.”

“Even a Templar?” Fenris asked from behind. Anders looked back at him where he stood, washing, drying, and folding linens. Anders paused for a moment. “Well, I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t say yes, wouldn’t I?”

Fenris raised a single eyebrow at him. He wasn’t challenging or being obtuse. In fact, it was difficult for Anders to tell what he was really getting at, seeing as how he was so hard to read sometimes.

“That’s not what I asked, and you know it.”

“I don’t hold any great love for Templars, considering the one that was supposed to help with the mission today ended up turning on us, but…” He paused, thinking of Alistair, Rashia’s dearest love next to him. While the man hadn’t ever worn the armor, he’d been trained as one right up until the day before he was to be sworn in when he’d been conscripted. Alistair was the sort of man that, if Anders had to live in a world where the Order would always exist, all Templars should be like.

Kind. Understanding. Dedicated.

“…I knew a few decent ones, once upon a time. And while most of the ones here must have been scraped from the bottom of the most vile barrels of slime and villainy imaginable… there’s at least two good ones that I could name right off if you asked me to.”

“Ser Thrask,” said the woman quietly, and Anders turned to her, feeling his surprise take over his face. “Yes, he’s one of them. He’s been helping me and the underground the most.”

“And Ser Keran,” her partner added. “I believe he was the one who helped take care of our phylacteries. Without them, we’d likely not be here.”

Anders nodded thoughtfully.

“I hadn’t know that Ser Keran was helping out with the underground. I shall have to find a way to thank him.” And he walked back to help Fenris with cleaning the rest of the linens, leaving the couple to revel in their newfound freedom privately. Fenris looked up at Anders as he approached, catching the mage’s gaze.

“You meant what you said,” Fenris muttered quietly. Anders nodded. “I did. As I said, I hold no great love for the Templars and their Order, but at the end of the day, I’m a healer. If a person requires healing, I am compelled to address that.”

“But what about…" 

"Justice?”

Anders smiled at Fenris’ fleeting expression of surprise before the elf summoned his usual mask of stoicism.

“Once, he wouldn’t even tolerate the presence of them. I mean, you saw… no. You weren’t there, were you? No, I don’t think you were.”

“What?” Fenris pressed gently.

“The night Hawke went with me to the Chantry all those years ago, when… when I discovered that Karl had been made Tranquil.” Anders fussed with a folded linen, and Fenris reached out to settle him. He’d removed his gauntlets at some point, Anders noted. It felt good to feel someone else’s skin against his own; it grounded him.

“No, I wasn’t there for that,” Fenris confirmed, “but I heard about it, eventually. Justice overwhelmed you when you found out that the Templars had made him Tranquil, and you killed most of them. But your words make me think that… that reaction has changed?”

Anders shrugged. “Sort of. When we were attacked earlier, I was able to fight on my own, even when my magic was drained. Justice helped me a little then, but didn’t outright take over. It was better to be subtle.”

Fenris chuffed. “I wasn’t aware that you knew what subtle was.” Anders debated between rolling his eyes and flicking the elf on the nose. He settled for the eyes, snorting with pretend derision.

“But I did notice your foot patterns were different,” Fenris added. “Is that how Justice was helping?” Anders nodded. “Yes. When Justice was possessing the body of the Grey Warden Kristoff, he used a sword and shield.” Fenris inclined his head. “A warrior, then.”

“Yes. And Justice was a warrior in the Fade, too. Being in my body must be an entirely different experience, but that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of being a warrior. I’ve even worn armor before, though I had to use a bit of magic to help augment my strength." Fenris raised a single eyebrow, and Anders simply shrugged in response. 

"Rashia taught me how to do it. It’s the strangest thing. But, anyway… just because I’m a mage doesn’t mean I’m useless without my magic. Though, I’m thankful you appeared when you did today. Why did you come by?”

Fenris merely offered him a sly smile. “I had a feeling you might need me. But… you didn’t really. You had things quite well in hand by the time I arrived.”

Anders chuckled, leaning in close for a quick kiss. 

“Oh, Fen… I always need you.”

Fenris closed his eyes as their foreheads pressed together and he hummed contentedly. “Good to know, mage.” Anders smiled and leaned forward for another kiss.


	15. Anders and Bethany (Anders/Bethany Hawke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders arrives back at his clinic after the Deep Roads Expedition to find that it has gained an unexpected new tenant. 
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending.**

When Varric had first referred to her as “Sunshine”, Anders hadn’t truly grasped the meaning behind the moniker he’d gifted her with. Not until he came back from the excursion into the Deep Roads, tired and battle-worn. His senses (including his sense of time) were shot to the Void, but he managed the walk back to his clinic from the city gates in with little trouble.

The sky was mostly grey, and it was raining a little. Ordinarily, he’d sit at the edge of Darktown and watch the rain, listening to it so that Justice could enjoy the music that it made.

Not today. He was too tired, and while his patients had been without him for… oh, Maker knew how long, he needed a little time himself to rest and recuperate. After Bartrand had closed that door on them, seemingly trapping them in the thaig with all of the red lyrium, he didn’t remember much. Just the panic, and the darkness creeping in at the edges of his sight… Anders could’ve sworn then that he heard a voice telling him that there was a way out, and another telling him that he wasn’t alone. One of those voices had sounded like Justice, he thought.

But living in constant fear that there might not be a way out of the Deep Roads had grated on him, and even Justice was exhausted, having had to help Anders remain calm when the others couldn’t help. So, he found himself standing at the clinic doors, turning the handle out of habit…

…only to find it unlocked.

Anders frowned. This was Darktown, and his locks for the clinic weren’t the most secure things. He really needed to ward them with magic or something. So… someone must have broken into the clinic. But what did he have that was worth stealing? Besides his life, his magic, or a few of his rare books, which he’d purchased from the Black Emporium’s junk drawers. Or maybe he’d simply forgotten to lock it?

But as it turned out, someone _had_ broken in. It was simply that they hadn’t stolen anything, per se.

“Anders!” Bethany shrieked, startled backwards like a skittish cat. Bethany, who’d Hawke had chosen to leave behind because he didn’t want to lose her to the Darkspawn or worse. Why was she here?

“Bethany? Is that you? What–what are you doing in my clinic?”

Anders took a look around the room, and noticed that it had been cleaned recently, and the beds had been used. The back room where he’d hidden his little bedroom was still closed off, but one of the cots looked like it was used on a daily basis… or rather, a nightly one.

“Have you been living here?” he asked her, still perplexed as to her presence in the clinic. She nodded, sniffling. “Merrill was kind enough to warn me when she saw some Templars coming for the house as she was on her way back to the Alienage one evening. I didn’t even think about where I was going to go when I packed up all of my things and fled… then I remembered that you had some places in the clinic that were useful, and I asked Isabela to pick the lock for me…”

“How did you find her?” Anders asked, setting his things down and giving the young woman an accessing look. Bethany shrugged. “She’s always at the Hanged Man. And if she wasn’t there, I was even prepared to look at the Blooming Rose. Either way, she and Merrill helped hide me here, and then someone noticed that the clinic was open and, well…”

She held out her hands hopelessly.

“I’m not a great healer, but I can mend cuts and breaks and bruises. So I stayed here.”

Bethany was still shaking a little, as she recounted the details of her escape. She trembled like the last leaf on a tree shedding its leaves before winter, and yet… yet there was this hint of fierceness behind her eyes, something that kept her upright despite the obvious terror there, in the way she spoke, the way she held herself. There was a deep seated strength that she drew upon that Anders had never seen before in another mage.

He wondered if that was the sort of thing that came from being born an apostate who was always on the run. That will, that _drive_ to survive was so strong in her, it seemed all that was keeping her going. He’d definitely never seen that in a Circle mage before.

“But now that Garrett’s back…” she trailed off, fixing him with a desperate look, “he is back, isn’t he? You wouldn’t just come back without him, would you?”

Anders shook his head. “Of course I wouldn’t. But you still can’t really go back, even now that he’s got all the money he needs to buy back the Amell estate and titles. Not now that the Templars know you’re one of them.”

“They’ve never seen me,” she bit back, “they don’t know what I look like!”

“But there’s always that chance,” Anders told her seriously. “You _were_ with us at the Gallows, once. Cullen saw you. And,” –he held up a finger to stop her from interrupting– “even if you never saw him again, if they decided to check your household, they’d still drag you off and you might never leave the Circle.”

“Well what am I supposed to do now? I don’t have anywhere else to go!” she shot back, angry tears rolling down her face as she walked up to him and tried to look intimidating.

Try being the operative word, since Anders was at least a full foot taller than she was, and she was by her nature even slimmer than when he was during the winter when he gave away more bits of his food than usual to the people of Darktown. Anders merely looked down at her and sighed, grasping her shoulders gently.

“You know,” he told her calmly, “I never said you had to leave, Bethany. You can stay here for as long as you need. And you can still see your brother and go out on errands. You just can’t go back, that’s all.”

And then her lip trembled, and –finally– she let go of whatever it was that had been holding her together this whole time as she crumpled against him, clutching his robes and sobbing.

“I _*hic*_ I… I haven’t seen my mother in weeks,” she wailed. “Not even _*hic*_ that rat bastard, Gamlen! I was even _*hic*_ thinking the other night how, how… _*hic*_ how nice it would be just to see his face…”

Anders walked her over to the cot she’d been using to sleep and tried to help her lay down, but she clung to his robes and wouldn’t let go.

“Please don’t leave,” she breathed, coughing wetly, and blowing her nose on a rag she pulled from under her blouse. “Please. Please stay. Stay so that I know you’re real and not some nightmare of the Fade come to haunt me and tease me with the comfort of a familiar face.”

Anders’ heart broke a little at her words. He _knew_ that feeling. Knew what it was like not knowing when, if you saw anyone or anything living at all if it were real or not.

So Anders sighed again and joined Bethany on the cot and let her cling to him as she cried herself to sleep. He waited for her to say more than what she’d already said, but when he looked down he noticed that she was fast asleep, wet tears still glistening on her eyelashes. Gingerly, he wiped them away and pulled her closer, humming a soft lullaby from his childhood in a language he hadn’t spoken since before that incident in the barn…

…and not long after did he follow her into sleep which was, for once, uneventful. Peaceful, even. And when he awoke the next morning, feeling a warm, heavy weight on his chest, he could still feel her against him, her breathing still soft and even as she slept.

He was still tired. And a part of him (the part that he thought was Justice) said that they should try to get up and get back to work, but Anders tried his best to make it clear that he wished to remain a moment longer. It had been a long time since he’d last woken up next to a person he hadn’t slept with the night prior. This was… pleasant. A rare indulgence.

But little did he know that in the years to come, it would not be such a rare indulgence and it would in fact become part of their routine. 

And the two apostates would do more than share a sleeping space, a clinic, a home. They would share a first kiss after a battle with slavers (her first kiss in general, and his first kiss with _her_ even if it wasn’t _his_ first kiss), they would share their bodies with one another after her mother dies at the hands of the blood mage Quentin and her brother nearly does the same at the hands of the Arishok, but they would also end up sharing their entire lives with another, newer life after they leave Kirkwall for good.

Anders would come to truly understand how right Varric had been to gift her with that particular name, even if Varric himself never did…

A ray of sunshine indeed.


	16. Anders and Friendship (Anders/Karl)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders is almost finished mopping the floors of the Chantry chapel in the Ferelden Tower when a fellow apprentice with quickly graying hair and kind blue eyes formally meets Anders for the first time. 
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Cuteness Overload, Karl is a sassy lil' shit**. :P

Before the Circle, Anders remembered being friends with everyone.

People just _liked_ him, and wanted to be near him, and he wanted to be near them. He liked making people happy. Making them laugh. He ran and played hide-and-seek with the children that preferred the outdoors (he wasn’t great at hiding because he was so tall, but he never minded much), or he would sometimes stay inside and read or draw or make up new card games with the ones who couldn’t or didn’t like to play outside.

Years later, he couldn’t remember any of their faces, just the vague and varied expressions of sadness and terror as he was being dragged away, his mother trying to fight off the Templars with a frying pan, then falling to the cobblestones, blood staining the ground. Blood that was then the same color as the only thing he’d been allowed to take with him when he’d been chained and tossed upon the back of a horse like a sack of wheat.

His mother’s meditation pillow.

-

The pillow was the thing that helped him make his first real friend in the Ferelden Circle.

He carried it with him everywhere, though he learned not to let the Templars or even some of the other apprentices see that he had it. Instead, he stuffed it in a shoulder bag with a few books and pads of paper, and he’d keep it in his lap instead of on the floor, reaching in and stroking the stitching to remind him of what he’d left behind.

And that he had to get back.

Somehow it hadn’t been taken from him either the first or second time that he’d tried to escape. He wondered if perhaps it was because he’d kept it in the shoulder bag and the Templars hadn’t thought to search there. Or… maybe they just didn’t care about a lumpy little red pillow that belong to a person (no, a _thing_ ) that the Templars considered beneath them.

Whatever the reason, Anders was glad to still have the pillow with him while he scrubbed the Chantry chapel floors as part of the last escape’s punishment. The bag was sitting out in the open, the clasp undone and the flap hanging off of the side of the bench so that Anders could see the bright color of the fabric when he looked up.

It helped pass the time quickly, because he wanted to be done before anyone came looking to come offer prayers. (He was afraid he might have to scrub the chapel all over again if someone scuffed up even one stone on the floors…)

That was when he heard the footsteps and the creaking of a door opening…

“Wait! Don’t come in yet, please!” Anders cried out, accidentally knocking over the bag with the pillow. He gasped and tried to pick it up before whoever it was saw it, but… too late.

And that was when Anders met _him_.

He was an older boy, though he couldn’t be Anders’ senior by more than two or three years, despite what looked to be a severe case of an early greying. His eyes were a most clear sky blue that Anders could’ve sworn sparkled like starlight. He almost had to shake himself out of his thoughts. Maker, what was wrong with him?

The boy had Anders’ pillow in his hands, and was looking over it thoughtfully as he reverently replaced it in the bag, which he handed back to Anders.

“Still cleaning the floors?” The boy asked him, offering a wry smile that did interesting things to his insides. Anders sighed, grumbling. “Yes… but I’m almost done, I promise. Can… can you wait a bit so I can finish and tell the First Enchanter I’ve learned my lesson?”

“Have you?” The boy asked him with a light chuckle and a grin. “Learned your lesson, that is?”

Anders looked away. He couldn’t lie to this one for some reason like he’d been able to lie to everyone else. “I… um. Well…”

He gave Anders a sympathetic smile.

“It’s okay. I won’t tell if you don’t.” Anders blinked at him. “Really? You’re not going to… but–”

“I didn’t grow up here like most of the others did either.”

“So why don’t you want to go back?” Anders asked.

“Because there’s nothing for me there,” he replied sadly. “And they’ll track you, no matter how far you run. With your phylactery, remember?”

Oh. Right.

Anders stood up from the floor where he’d finally finished this section of the chapel. “Well, I guess that makes sense. But… why stay here? There’s nothing for us here but death or despair!” The boy’s lips quirked up in a soft smile. “Don’t you mean death and despair?”

Anders snorted. “That too, I suppose.”

The two boys shared a laugh, and when it was over, the other extended a hand to him.

“I’m Karl. And… you don’t need to tell me your name. Everyone around here knows it by now. Anders, right?” Anders shrugged, shaking Karl’s hand.

“The Templars only call me that because they didn’t bother to write down what my father told them and even if they had I doubt they could’ve pronounced it correctly. All they remembered was that my father was from the Anderfels and since I refused to talk to them, I just became "the Anders boy”, which I was just fine with.“

Karl seemed to look equal parts horrified and anguished.

"So… no one here knows your real name?”

Anders shook his head, scoffing. “No one needs to. "Anders” is just fine for me.“

Then Anders shifted, fidgeting with the hem of the cloth around his shoulders. He glanced up again at Karl’s distraught expression, and he sighed deeply.

"But… I could… I could tell you, I suppose. If only to make you stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Karl asked him, now looking rather confused instead.

“Like I’m some wet kitten that got left out in the rain,” Anders groused. “Come here, so I can tell you.” Karl nodded and leaned in, letting Anders whisper his name into his ear.

After it was done, Anders leaned back to see Karl looking quite stunned.

“ _That_ mouthful of nonsense is your _name_?” Karl asked him incredulously. Anders grinned.

“Now you see why I prefer Anders to… that?”

Karl snorted. “Yeah. I don’t think even I could say it properly if I tried, sorry. I suppose Anders is… is just fine.” He smiled at Anders, and there was a little flash of teeth that made Anders’ cheeks flush as his heart thumped just a little bit faster. “It’s, uh… heh… better than having the Templars butcher it at every opportunity,” Anders chuckled sheepishly. Then he suddenly remembered that he still had the rest of the room to clean and began looking around for the supplies, which Karl helpfully pointed out to him.

“Say,” Karl began, picking up one of the spare mops, “the First Enchanter didn’t say that you had to do this… alone, did he?”

Anders looked up, blinking owlishly.

“Um… no?”

Karl grinned. “Well, as long as you don’t tell, he doesn’t have to know that you had some help finishing it, right?” Suddenly, Anders felt his spirits brighten and he returned Karl’s smile with one of his own.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he agreed, and the two boys were best friends from there on out.


	17. Anders and Sadness (Anders/Fenris)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders doesn't come home for dinner one evening, so Fenris goes by the clinic, where he finds Anders quietly observing the anniversary of Karl's death. 
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Mourning, Prayer, Sadness, Discussions about Faith.**

Usually when Fenris came by the clinic, it was busy.

Patients would be milling about, coming and going as they pleased in a steady stream. He didn’t often lend a hand (around so many strange and unusual people, he felt naked and uncomfortable without his gauntlets, which were also not very conducive to tending to the wounded) but when Hayden wasn’t available and Lirene’s assistant hadn’t arrived for the day, sometimes Fenris would swallow his fear and take them off to help Anders wrap bandages and administer potions to the sick and injured.

Today was different, though. Today the lanterns were unlit, and the doors unlocked, but closed.

Fenris hadn’t seen Anders leave that morning nor for the entire day in fact, and it concerned him. So he entered the clinic silently, taking a moment to remove his gauntlets and set them on a table so Anders would know he was here.

And speaking of the clinic, none of the inner lanterns were lit either but for one in the center which allowed Fenris enough light to see in the near darkness of the late hour. This also helped him spot the soft glow of candlelight from around the corner of one of the two doors that Anders now only used for storage, since he wasn’t living here anymore. Fenris called out softly as he approached the light.

“Anders? It’s getting late. I was wondering if… if you might come… home.”

Fenris turned the corner and found Anders kneeling with the red meditation pillow that he’d once said had belonged to his mother, surrounded by a small shrine of candles and a single framed sketch of a man that Fenris recognized, though only by Anders’ descriptions of him and not because he’d ever seen the man himself.

The man’s hair was gently spiked, and shaded a light salt-and-pepper grey. The jaw was square, but soft, obscured by a mustache and beard that was neatly trimmed on the sides, but left the middle to run free like his hair. The eyes, even in a sketch rendering, sparkled like starlight, and there were laugh lines and little wrinkles that signified that the artist had known this person so intimately that they’d memorized them. The man was smiling, too. Open and inviting, this was a man who loved people.

And he’d loved Anders once, if Fenris’ knowledge of the man was correct. At least as much as Anders had loved him, if not more.

Anders startled a little at his approach, looking back with wide eyes, and it was then that Fenris noticed how Anders shivered with little sobs as tears ran in a silent, steady stream down his face.

“…Fenris?” Anders coughed softly, clearing his throat. “What are you doing here?”

Fenris knelt next to him. There were a few other pillows that were scattered about, though it was difficult to tell if they’d been brought here for Anders to sleep on, what with how little Fenris knew about Andrastian meditation customs. (Or rather, any Andrastian customs at all, save for what little he knew about their beliefs and worldviews.)

“You didn’t come home for dinner,” Fenris whispered. He wasn’t sure why; perhaps it was because of the atmosphere. Despite not looking much like a Chantry chapel, the little storage room certainly had the air of one with the lit candles, the scattered pillows, and the little statue of Andraste that was about as long as his forearm sitting on a small, low table next to the framed sketch of the man.

“I was concerned, so I came looking,” Fenris finished. Then he glanced around the room, curious about their surroundings. “What is all this, exactly?” Fenris gestured to the room, momentarily having forgotten Anders’ tears in his curiosity.

Anders sighed softly.

“Well, after I stopped living here, I initially decided to turn this little nook into a storage room, which, obviously I did. But then I started hearing a few people lament how they wished they could worship in the Chantry chapel without being looked down upon by the nobles… and I asked Sebastian what I might be able to do about it.”

Fenris glanced sharply at Anders. “ _You_ asked Sebastian about something to do with the Chantry?” he asked incredulously. Anders sniffed, wiping at his eyes with a handkerchief as he coughed in a short burst of laughter.

“Shocking, I know. But I remembered that my mother used to have a place in the home where I grew up where we could worship during the harsh Ferelden winters and we couldn’t go outside to make the journey into town to attend Chantry services. Sebastian was actually quite well-mannered about the affair, and even helped me set it up.”

Anders gestured to the pillows that were similar to the one he knelt upon. “These were going to be burned, he told me, so he decided to, ah… repurpose them and give them a good home.” He shrugged, glancing up at the small yet delicately carved statue of Andraste.

“And people come here to pray?”

Anders nodded. “To pray, to meditate. To simply enjoy whatever peace and quiet one can find in a clinic. But… yes. People do use it. Often. Sometimes I have to move the statue out into the clinic on more significant days when certain prayers are more widely observed.”

“But today is not one of those days,” Fenris prompted.

Anders sighed, and he closed his eyes to try to stop a few more tears from falling. They still trickled out, and Fenris suddenly wished he were better at giving physical comfort like the kind Anders gave to him and so many others.

“Not to anyone but me, no,” Anders lamented softly.

“Is today… the anniversary of his death?”

Anders looked up at Fenris curiously as another two tears trickled down and fell to the ground, seemingly without Anders noticing them.

“How…?”

Fenris leaned over and pressed a quick kiss on Anders’ cheek, briefly tasting the salt of his tears. “You speak of him more often than you think. I may not have met the man, but I like to think that I know him well enough from your descriptions of him. So… is this what you’ve been doing all day?”

Fenris was aware that he couldn’t seem to keep the concern from his face, a fact that Anders hadn’t missed either until he leaned over and repaid him in kind, pressing a kiss of his own against Fenris’ cheek, stubble brushing enticingly against his skin.

“Praying, yes. But not _all_ day. I took in a few patients when I felt up to it, and Justice made sure I ate something. I didn’t really feel like it, but I think it helped, a little.”

“…and does it help anything? This… praying.”

Anders sniffed once, and wiped at his eyes with the handkerchief again.

“Sometimes, it does. At least, it helps ease the ache in my heart. And if you’re asking about what the Chantry teaches about prayers for the dead, some are supposed to ease the passing of the person’s soul into the arms of the Maker; others ask for intercession on the behalf of Andraste to save the souls of sinners who might not have been as faithful to the Maker as they should’ve been… in order to keep them from being consumed by demons.

”…and if you’re asking if that works? I don’t know. But, considering that the Chantry also teaches that a mage’s very existence is a sin… well. Then I certainly hope it does. Even if those prayers are coming from another mage.“

Anders’ tears had ceased now, and the candles around them were burning quite low indeed.

"I don’t know much about… all this,” Fenris told him quietly, gesturing to the candles, the pillows, and the statue, “but I… I’d like to think that as well. That your Karl is at the side of the Maker, especially if the alternative is being consumed by demons. From what you’ve told me of him, he seems like the sort of person who deserved better than his lot in life.”

Anders chuckled softly. “Mmm. What are you trying to say, love?”

Fenris simply offered him a smile in return. “A person like that doesn’t keep a person like you around if they don’t see value in them. Perhaps… your prayers are worth more than you think they are.” Fenris leaned against Anders and gently pressed his face against Anders’ shoulder.

“But that would make the Chantry wrong then, about mages being a sin in the eyes of the Maker,” Anders said lightly. Fenris chuffed derisively.

“The Chantry was founded by people, was it not? And people are prejudiced, imperfect beings. Again, I don’t know much about being an Andrastian, or being a person of faith in general, but perhaps they got a few things wrong when they first wrote the Chant.”

“Or they’re simply interpreting things wrong. The Chant never actually says that we’re a sin in the eyes of the Maker. Only the Chantry does.”

“Well, there you have it,” Fenris said, pulling away. “Now, would you like to come home? You don’t have to eat anything, but there’s still some druffalo and potato soup left if you want some.” Anders hummed contentedly and sighed. “Actually, druffalo soup sounds really good. Help me clean up a bit?”

Fenris helped Anders blow out the candles and rearrange the pillows and they left shortly after. The two men arrived home, and Fenris served them both a bowl of the promised soup that only required just a touch more heat from one of Anders’ clever little spells.

They sat down across from each other at the table they usually used for Diamondback nights, but because they were tired and it was close, they didn’t bother with anything else. Partway through eating, Anders reached over and took Fenris’ hand, linking their fingers together while staring at Fenris as though he held the sun and the moon in his eyes. Though, considering how Anders portrayed Karl in his sketch, perhaps that might not be so far from the truth.

“Yes?” Fenris prompted when Anders didn’t say anything.

“Um… thank you. For earlier. I’m glad you cared enough to come find me when I was late.”

“It was nothing, Anders. I promise.” Fenris let himself squeeze Anders’ hand gently, feeling the warmth of it in his very core, though the gesture might hardly be considered significant to some. “I… you are worth it, you know,” Fenris confessed.

“Worth what?” Anders asked, perplexed.

“Everything. I don’t know how else to put it, and I suspect that neither did your Karl, if what I feel for you is anything close to what he did. Once, I quite agreed with the Chantry’s teachings about you and all that you represent… but I find that I can’t any longer. At least not where you are concerned.”

Anders’ eyes filled with tears again, though Fenris suspected they were tears of a different sort, this time. “Oh, Fen…” he breathed, and Fenris clasped his other hand and pulled him as close as they could be with the table between them, their foreheads brushing together.

“I’m sorry I worried you,” Anders whispered. Fenris just hummed in response.

“Weren’t you listening, mage? You’re worth worrying over. Your Karl must have thought as much, to love you so.”

“Yes, he must have,” Anders agreed.

“Could you tell me more about him?” Fenris requested. “Something embarrassing about him, perhaps? Or maybe he had a favorite place to kiss you that I don’t know about?” Anders laughed darkly. “Well, I know for a fact that the two of you share a favorite place to kiss me… and it’s not my lips, I assure you.”

Fenris grinned.

“But I think I’ve got a really good embarrassing story about him that’s worthy of a tale Isabela might tell… have you heard of a book called _Fang of the Dragonlord_?”

“No, I don’t think I have. Do tell…”

Anders returned Fenris’ grin with one of his own. “Well, it’s this really trashy Nevarran romance novel, like the sort that Varric is rubbish at writing…”

Fenris leaned back and relaxed. This was most certainly going to be worth it, he thought.

Though he had to wonder… if Karl’s favorite place to kiss Anders was against the inside of his palms… or someplace else. He had a feeling that he and Karl shared many such favorite places, and later, he wanted to rediscover them all… after he listened to Anders’ story, of course. After all, he was worth the wait.


	18. Anders and Legacy (Anders/Fenris/Hawke)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Fenris helps Justice protect Anders from Corypheus' call, while Hawke tries not to deal with having learnt about the Calling by killing deepstalkers for sport. 
> 
> Tags and warnings for this chapter include: **Canon Typical Violence, The Calling.**

Anders groaned as the song scratched maddeningly loudly in his head. He was curled in on himself, sweating and panting.

_The Hawke… the Blood of the Hawke… bring me the Blood of the Hawke!_

“Shut. Up.” He hissed, clutching his head.

“Uh, Blondie?” That was Varric. Right? Yes, that was Varric. “Are you gonna be alright?” Anders shivered, turning over and groaning into his pillow. Justice fought with the mental intruder for a few moments and eventually, eventually, the song of the voice dimmed to a low throbbing pulse at his temples. He panted, turning over on his side as he looked blearily over at Varric.

“I… think so. For now,” Anders mumbled. “That… that _thing_ keeps trying to get in my head. It must be… connected to the darkspawn somehow. Justice is helping, but… I don’t know how long he can keep protecting me.”

Anders couldn’t see Varric’s expression from where he lay, but he could vaguely make out the dwarf frowning at him before turning to Carver, and whispering something he couldn’t hear. Then someone slid up behind him and pressed against him, their chestplate cool against his back even through his tunic and coat. Fenris.

“Can I help?” he whispered. Anders turned around and pressed his face against Fenris’ neck, his closed eyelids touching one of the lyrium lines and clearing the headache completely.

 ** _The lyrium is refreshing_ ,** Justice supplied. **_Do tell him so._**

“Mmm. This. This is helping. Your lyrium… ’s cleared my headache. Justice is feeling stronger.”

“Good,” Fenris affirmed. “You stay here and rest, then.”

Anders grunted. “They help keep that _thing_ out of my head. The darkspawn dreams still get through, unfortunately.” Anders felt Fenris’ shoulders shrug. He could almost imagine the nonplussed expression that was surely on the elf’s face. “Well, try to get some sleep. There’s time left yet on the hourglass Hayden brought.”

Anders mumbled something in protest, but then Fenris started up a low purr that instantly had Anders dropping off in moments.

* * *

He was jolted awake by the feeling of Fenris pulling away, the lack of connection with the lyrium like a splash of cold water to the face.

“Sorry,” Fenris mumbled in apology. “It’s time we get going, though.”

Anders nodded, and packed up his bedroll. Varric put out the fire while Hayden and Carver scouted ahead. Fenris remained with Anders as he buckled up his coat and boots. They still stuck a little sometimes, being the new black ones Fenris had brought him to be fitted for when his old coat and boots had grown too threadbare for his liking. Hayden had offered to make the purchase themselves, but Fenris had insisted. He liked buying things for the mage. Hayden had simply smiled that knowing smile of theirs and let him do what he needed to do, not bothering to correct Fenris about the fact that Anders wasn’t the only mage between the three of them. But they both knew Fenris meant Anders when he referred to him as such.

“Your head still alright, Blondie?” Varric asked as he walked up, adjusting Bianca.

“Still got a wicked headache, but so far I’m fine.” He grit his teeth as another slow scrape of darkspawn song clawed at the edges of his mind. The sleep had helped, and being pressed against the lyrium in Fenris’ flesh had given Justice the time he needed to recover from the previous mental onslaught. Still, Anders worried for his friend.

 _ **Concentrate on fighting,**_ Justice soothed. ** _I can handle keeping us safe for now._**

Anders picked up his staff and tightened the straps on his pouches to secure them. Carver and Hayden came back, telling them about the roving bands of deepstalkers ahead, and to watch out for the glowing water.

“Water, this far down in the Deep Roads?” Anders frowned. “That’s… rather odd.”

Carver nodded, adjusting bits of his own armor that were beginning to come undone. “Yeah, I thought it was weird too. I mean, I’ve not been in the Deep Roads much since the Joining, but we were down pretty deep during the expedition, right?” Anders nodded distractedly. “Well, just, uh… don’t drink it. If it’s glowing, it’s probably not a good thing.”

“Huh,” Varric huffed. “Tell that to Rivaini next time we head into one of those Tevinter ruins back home before she starts reaching for the sparklies.”

Anders snorted. “I doubt she’d listen even if I did. You know how she is about sparklies.”

“Well, she’s yet to pluck out my eyes and wear them around her neck,” Fenris added. “So I’d say she does listen to our advice on occasion.” Varric chuckled as they walked through this new, damp, eeriely green part of the Deep Roads. Maker, the water really was glowing. “Broody, I think she only listens to you because you’re more likely to pluck out her heart than she is your eyes.”

“Then perhaps I should be the one to tell her not to touch any sparklies that glow.”

“I can’t believe you just said “sparklies” with a straight face,“ said Carver, glancing back at them from his point position next to Hayden.

"Who says I said it with a straight face? I could be smiling for all you know.”

“Anders, was he smiling?”

Anders felt his lips twist into an automatic smirk as he replied without missing a beat, “Of course he was. Couldn’t you tell the difference from the sound of his voice?”

It had been Fenris’ usual near-monotone the entire time. Carver groaned.

“Ugh. Now I know you’re feeling better. I can practically feel you making kissy faces at him from up here.”

“Actually,” Hayden chimed in cheerily, “He makes the kissy faces at _me_. Anders and Fen don’t so much as make kissy faces as they sort of attack each other with their lips.” Carver groaned again. “Hayden, that’s… just.. no. Not a mental image I needed to see.” Hayden giggled, but their laughter was cut short when a tiny deepstalker walked around a doorway and began to shriek at them, warning any nearby deepstalkers of their presence in the area.

“Say Carver,” Hayden began as they drew the staff key from its sling across their back, readying for a fight, “d'you think you can count how many of these things you can kill before we reach the end? Bet you five gold pieces that I can get more than you.”

Carver chuckled. “Oh, no way I’m taking that one. I’ve seen what you can do with a firestorm.”

“Ah, well. Your loss.” And then they slammed their staff on the ground and cast a rolling wave of flame across the ground as the little beasts began to swarm.

* * *

Later, after the harrowing struggle against the magister-darkspawn thing, Corypheus, when they were back at Kirkwall, Anders was waiting in his spot on the sofa in front of the fire while he listened to Fenris pace behind him and Hayden said their goodbyes to Carver out in the main hall. Eventually, the sound of their voices ceased, and Hayden entered the room.

Anders glanced over as Hayden closed the doors, leaning against them with a deep sigh.

“Glad it’s finally over?” he asked. Hayden could only nod as they padded slowly over to the sofa, plopped down next to Anders, and then crawled partway into his lap, clutching at Anders’ robes. Anders frowned, noticing that Hayden was shaking terribly.

“Are you alright, Hayden? You’re shaking. What’s wrong?”

Behind him, Fenris stopped pacing and immediately made for the sofa to sit next to Hayden.

It was a while before Hayden could speak, but once they grasped Fenris’ hand and a deep, low purring began to fill the room, they managed to take a breath deep enough to speak about what bothered them.

“I just… can’t stop thinking about what Carver said about the Calling. I keep closing my eyes and seeing Larius in place of him or, or you…” Hayden buried their face partly in Anders’ feathers and took a few long, rattling breaths as they held back tears.

Anders had always known his days were numbered. He just hadn’t had the courage to tell them. Either Hayden or Fenris.

 _ **They are not as numbered as you think,**_ Justice rumbled, sounded as though amused at a peculiar discovery. Anders frowned.

_Wait, what do you mean?_

_**It appears that the darkness in you that the Wardens call “the Taint” is frozen in the state of progress it was when we first joined. I can only assume that I am the cause of its stopping, and therefore you will not likely ever hear the Calling. Not while you and I share your body.** _

Anders couldn’t help the audible gasp that escaped him, causing Hayden’s head to snap up sharply. “What? What is it?”

“Justice,” Anders breathed. “Justice tells me that the corruption in my blood… it hasn’t spread any further into my system since… since the day we joined.” He knew he sounded strange, but his world felt like it was tilted on an axis, slowly turning upside-down. Hayden shifted in his lap so that they were kneeling on the sofa, sitting on his thighs.

“W-What does… does that mean…?”

“Then… as long as you and Justice share your body, you won’t ever hear the Calling?”

Fenris had stopped purring momentarily to shift closer and piece together the meaning of Anders’ revelation. He nodded, feeling almost giddy with numbness, though he wasn’t certain if it was from Hayden’s perch on his thighs or the rush of elation that flooded him at the implications of Justice’s discovery.

“Y-Yes. At least, that is what Justice tells me, anyway,”

And not a moment later Anders found himself with an equally giddy mouthful of mage as Hayden pressed their body against his to kiss him with abandon. Their hair came undone from the messy braid it had been bound into earlier that day, falling in long silky curls around his face and shoulders. When Hayden pulled away, leaving Anders stunned and out of breath, Fenris chuckled beside them.

“And you said that _I_ preferred to attack the mage with my lips,” he quipped.

Hayden merely glanced over and shot the elf a sultry smirk. “I never said you preferred to, or that I didn’t. But something that I do prefer… is being sandwiched between the two of you.” They glanced back at Anders, panting softly as they rolled their hips against Anders, who was already acquiring a substantial hard-on.

“And I want it here, on the sofa. It used to be our favorite place, remember?”

Anders shivered at the implications of that statement, and at the flash of arousal that shot through him at the memories it brought along with it.

“I don’t know if this poor sofa can handle the three of us,” he said between breaths as Hayden began working at the buckles of his coat with slow yet practiced motions. Hayden’s only response was to glance over at Fenris, who was already beginning to divest himself of his own clothing, and then back at Anders as they leaned forward again to stage whisper in his ear, “Well, we won’t find out if we don’t try, will we?”

And then they kissed him again, and the lot of them didn’t leave the library sofa (which did indeed survive their exploits) for a _very_ long time.


	19. Anders and Mark of the Assassin (Anders/Fenris/Hawke)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders takes a moment to dance wth each of his lovers at the celebratory ball before their heist begins.
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Corsetry, Ballroom Dancing, Danarius was a rat bastard.** Also, Hayden learning to embrace their identity and killing it in a nice set of corseted robes.

When Hayden walked through the room, everyone’s heads turned.

And it wasn’t because they’d been the one to slay the first wyvern (or indeed, the largest), it was most likely because of the outfit that they entered the room with. It was a set of dress robes, all long red silk and black lace and brocade, one which left their shoulders bare to show off the long black curls that fell in elegant waves around their face, though Hayden had deliberately decided to leave off shaving their stubble, electing instead to apply a small bit of kohl around their eyes and a swipe of bright red lipstick to match the robes. And, the robes were corseted. Quite obviously so.

Anders watched as Hayden walked through the people, making small talk with Duke Prosper and some of the other nobles that milled about. Eventually, they made their way over to where he stood with Fenris and Tallis, the latter of the two whistling softly at Hayden’s approach.

“Well! You clean up nice,” she complimented them, “Much, much better than nice…” Anders watched her eyes rake down Hayden’s form and he frowned, though beside him, he could also hear Fenris’ low growl of possession. Hayden laughed lightly and waved the tension away with a hand.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Tallis, but do refrain from making passes at me with my partners next to us? Or at least in the room?” They flashed her that winning smile of theirs.

Tallis glanced over at Anders and Fenris, edging over a few steps when she noticed Fenris’ flattened ears and sharp glare. Anders knew how it felt to be under that intense gaze, wondering if looks could indeed burn a hole through one’s skull and kill a person. Certainly, the heat in Fenris’ eyes alone should’ve been enough to at least set her ablaze.

“I, well… yes. Does that also mean you are off limits when they are not in the room?”

“I’m afraid it does,” Hayden said airily, with an undercurrent of finality. “Now, Anders, the Duke tells me that the Remigold should be coming up soon, and I must have that dance with you and you alone before some other pair of hands steals you away.” Anders, who was also wearing a set of corseted robes (though his were a much more subtle green and gold affair, built more for support and to emphasize his hips than anything close to the masterpiece that Hayden wore), took Hayden’s hand and glanced back at Fenris, who was still glaring daggers at a now very unsettled Tallis.

“Do try not to kill our assassin with your eyes, Fen?” Hayden asked as they walked out onto the ballroom floor. “We need her for later.”

Distantly, he heard Fenris grumble something that sounded like, “If you don’t hurry back I wouldn’t count on it,” which made Anders laugh as he leaned over to press a kiss into Hayden’s hair. Hayden preened under his attention, which made Anders laugh even more.

“You’re like a little bird under all this attention,” he told them as they got into position to begin the dance. Hayden huffed. “I never do this back home, and now I wonder why I don’t. Here, I don’t have to hide what I am or care about anything anyone says. It’s liberating.” The music began and Anders took the lead in the dance as Hayden fell into the comfortable routine of following. Anders nodded in understanding.

“They do seem to like your outfit. You really went all out with it, didn’t you?”

“Your robes are corseted too,” Hayden pointed out, but Anders shook his head. “True, but mine are more for pleasure than presentation. You, my love, set out to make a statement. And you have.” Anders leaned in close to press a kiss against a corner of Hayden’s lips, feeling the gentle scratch of Hayden’s stubble against his own.

“I do like that you chose not to shave,” Anders confessed. “It helps add that extra touch of rebellion to your presentation tonight. It makes me all a-tingle.”

Hayden hummed contentedly as Anders spun them around the room until the dance came to a close. They sighed, more than a little disappointed that it was over.

“We were having such a wonderful time,” they lamented. “Why must all good things come to an end?” Anders chuffed and brushed a stray lock of hair from Hayden’s eyes. “I think that’s more a question for Varric, not me. I’m no philosopher.”

“But you are a wordsmith,” they pointed out. “I’ve read your manifesto. Your words are like a kind of magic all their own, you know?”

“After months and months of editing,” Anders muttered, which made Hayden snicker as they approached Fenris and Tallis. Fenris was no longer glaring at the other elf, but the red-headed assassin still seemed unsettled to be standing next to the man who’d been glaring daggers at her for the entire length of the dance.

“Oh hey, um, Hayden, do you think we could go, um, mingle with the nobles some more?” She tittered a bit when Fenris glanced at her, not glaring again yet, but definitely staring. “Maybe, um, we could find that key we need since I burned a good set of lockpicks on that door, right?”

Hayden sighed softly, removing themselves from Anders’ arm and offering her one of their own. “Well, I suppose we should. Anders, why don’t you see if you can get Fenris to dance, hmm?” They flashed a smile at the sullen elf, who flushed when Hayden’s soft blue eyes caught theirs. “I know we’re not just here for the party, but really, you should enjoy yourselves! Just don’t sample the ham, I hear it tastes of despair.”

And with that, they were whisked off by Tallis to go pester the nobles some more, promising to meet back up once they had the key and the information they needed to get inside to steal the jewel they’d come for (though Anders had a sneaking suspicion that either they were here for more than just a jewel or they weren’t there for a jewel at all, but that of course remained to be seen).

Anders turned his head to glance at Fenris.

“You don’t have to dance if you don’t want to,” he said, trying to help the elf relax as much as he could around so many strange people. “But you should at least sample the wine.” 

Fenris smirked.

“I did. And Duke Prosper is either a fool or has better tastes than I’d normally give someone like him credit for, if the quality of these early wines are better or worse than the wines that are served later when most people are good and properly drunk. That’s when people break out the good stuff, because people don’t drink as much when they’re already drunk.”

Anders felt a single eyebrow raise with his curiosity.

“You know a lot about wines, don’t you? Is that…”

“…something I learned in Danarius’ service? Yes. I wasn’t just his bodyguard, if you recall. I tasted his wine, his first bites of food, checked the meats to see if they were properly cooked…” Anders shuddered with disgust. “Revolting that he turned you into his food taster. What if you’d been poisoned?”

Fenris shrugged. “He only started making me learn when he discovered that someone had been poisoning my rations, to get me out of the way, presumably so they could try to kill him without my interference.”

Anders blinked at him owlishly. “You’re immune to poison?”

“Resistant. I think I’m immune to some of the lesser strains, but more potent poisons do tend to have some effect on me if I’m exposed to them for long enough. Anyway, it made me that much more useful, though he was never quite sure if my resistance was natural or yet another side effect of the brands, like my hair.” Anders nodded, turning back to watch the couples dancing on the floor as he let this information settle in his head. “Yes, I suppose, knowing that, it seems practical to have you as a food taster. He was still a right piece of shit, though.”

Fenris chuckled warmly. “Well, I suppose I should be flattered that you think so. By the way, I think I recognize the next set coming up. Does that offer for a dance still stand?”

Anders cocked his head, listening to the music, and turning to face Fenris again.

“You know this one? Let me guess, yet another of the “gifts” that rat bastard bestowed on you?“

“Yes,” Fenris agreed, “but at least this is one that I will enjoy reclaiming for myself. Come dance with me, Anders, so that I can forget about that assassin for a little while.” Anders hummed in amusement as he linked his arm with Fenris’ and they walked out to take up their places for the next dance.

“Hayden is still with her, if you recall.”

“Hayden can handle themselves,” Fenris purred, grasping Anders’ waist to signal that he wanted the lead in this dance, which Anders gladly acquiesced to. “You, on the other hand, are trouble when no one is watching you.” He leaned up to capture Anders’ lips in a kiss, which Anders couldn’t help but smile into.

“Trouble, am I? I’ll show you trouble,” he said, gripping Fenris’ waist gently. Fenris grinned, and a familiar spark lit within the depths of his wide green eyes.

“Later,” he whispered as the music started up slowly. “It wouldn’t do to leave Hayden out of the nights’ festivities. Not after they went to such trouble to wear what they did…” Anders laughed under his breath. “I knew I wasn’t the only one of us to be so affected by those robes. I can’t wait to get this heist over with so we can remove them together.”

“And yours,” Fenris added. “And _yours_ ,” Anders repeated with emphasis. “After all, it’s not an Orlesian party until _everyone_ is naked.” Fenris merely chuckled and pulled Anders close, sweeping his mage off of his feet for a few blissful, contented moments of magical revelry.

That is, until Hayden and Tallis arrived back with the key, and the heist began in earnest…


	20. Anders and Bisexuality (Anders/Hawke)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hayden comes by the clinic with a troubled mind, and Anders helps to put them at ease by telling them that they know all about being misunderstood. 
> 
> It takes me a bit to get to the actual bisexual bit of the prompt, and even then it’s not the focus so much as it is a device that Anders uses to help Hawke understand that he knows what it’s like for others to assume one thing just because of how another thing appears. I still enjoy this piece though, even if it’s not as prompt-centric as I hoped. Sometimes that’s just how the keystrokes click, if you know what I mean. ;)
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Discussions about Gender, Sexual Orientations, Gender Neutrality.**

Anders remembered the day that Hayden stumbled into his clinic, clutching a pair of worn yet pretty looking robes. Hayden glanced around, almost as though they hoped that Anders wasn’t there, and yet… their eyes eventually spotted him, darning a couple of socks in the far corner nearest to the light of the high windows.

“Oh, Anders! Hello… um. Good afternoon.”

Hayden ducked their head and shuffled forward a bit, still glancing around and holding their arms close to their sides. Clearly, they were uncomfortable about something. Anders put down his socks and thread and stood up, meeting Hayden halfway to hover over them, concerned.

“Afternoon, Hawke,” he greeted them, smiling softly. “Are you alright? You seem tense.”

Hayden frowned. “I thought I told you to call me Hayden,” they grumbled. Anders laughed.

“So you did. Sorry, I’ll not forget again. But, really, is something bothering you? Perhaps I can help.” Anders looked down at the robes Hayden was still clutching tightly.

“Do you need help with those?” he asked, pointing to the robes. Hayden nodded.

“I-If you don’t mind. But… that’s not really what I came here to talk to you about.” Hayden sighed and ran a hand through their hair, now more frustrated than uncomfortable. “I think… I… can, can we sit? Or maybe… do this while you’re helping me with… these?” Hayden held out the robes, which Anders took from them gingerly. “Why don’t you start by stripping down to your smalls first? I’ll lock up the clinic for a bit so we can have some privacy.”

Hayden nodded, and began to remove the armor, tunic, and trousers they were currently wearing while Anders briefly blew out the lantern and locked the door, coming back to find Hayden shifting in just their underthings next to one of the cots.

“Why is it so chilly down here?” Hayden complained idly, rubbing at their arms insistently. “It’s nearly the height of spring, isn’t it?”

Anders shrugged. “It gets much warmer later in the year. But come here and I’ll help you get into these robes to warm you up. Do you want the trousers they come with, or…?”

Hayden debated with themselves for a moment before nodding. “Yes, I’ll wear them for now.”

Anders handed them to Hayden. “Then put these on first and we’ll get started.”

He watched as Hayden put them on, accessing them with a healer’s gaze. Hayden was one of the more muscular mages he’d met outside of a Circle, though he supposed it came from growing up a farmer, like Anders had once upon a time. Hayden’s muscles were slimmer, though, more densely packed from fighting with the staff they used to fight off the bandits and various creatures they came across on the odd jobs they completed around Kirkwall.

Hayden wasn’t heavily muscled by any means, and likely wouldn’t be unless they worked at it; they were more like Anders, tall and gangly with not much bulk and a little on the skinny side. Eventually, they finished putting on the trousers, socks, and boots, and Anders helped them into the silvery blue patchwork affair that was the robe they’d brought. It had a shoulder section lined in white fur, just like the hood that was attached to it and it hugged their frame nicely.

Anders then showed Hayden how to slide the belts through the proper holes and attach their belt pouches to them. Anders was just finishing up with the belt at the waist when Hayden grasped his hand.

“Wait. Is there… a way we can make it… tighter? But not, like… I don’t know. Ugh.” They ran a hand through their hair again; frustrated. "I don’t want to have a particular… look to it. Does that make any sense?”

Anders’ eyebrows rose, and suddenly he understood. “Well, they’re robes. They do a pretty good job of obscuring things like that on their own, depending on the cut. I can certainly show you the safest length you can tighten the belts to, but you also need to be able to breathe… and besides, I don’t think clothing can necessarily help with what I think is troubling you. Why don’t we sit in the back? I’ve got some tea going, a bit of bread and cheese…”

Hayden stared at him for a few moments, the tension in their shoulders slowly leaving them.

“You… you know what’s wrong with me?” Hayden asked timidly.

Now it was Anders’ turn to stare and sigh. “Oh, Hayden. There’s nothing _wrong_ with you… come on. Let’s sit.” Anders linked his arm with Hayden’s and gently guided him to the back room he used as his sleeping quarters. The two of them sat down on the rug in the center of the floor while Anders poured them some tea and they made some small sandwiches from the small selection of bread, meat, and cheese that Anders had somehow not given away yet.

“So…” Hayden began after a while in an attempt to get the inevitable conversation started, “…so you know what’s bothering me then? I don’t think I meant to use the word "wrong”… I know it’s not… not necessarily wrong.“ Hayden grasped their mug of tea with both hands and stared into the inky darkness of its contents.

"My father was sort of… the first to notice that I was… different. I didn’t like being referred to as a boy, though I didn’t know why it bothered me so. It became more obvious when the twins were growing up –especially Carver– my mother told me that older boys needed to look out for the younger ones. Father took me aside and asked me if I’d prefer to be a girl instead, but that… that wasn’t right, either. I just wanted to be… me.”

Anders nodded as Hayden continued, the words coming in a steady stream after the first few sentences were out of them.

“He told me that it was okay not to want to be either a boy or a girl. But sometimes Mother would still refer to me as her "oldest son” to the people in the village, and… well. I suppose, technically it’s true.“ Hayden shrugged, gesturing to their physical self before they clutched the mug again and shook their head.

"I don’t think that’s what she meant. But Father always made sure that I was comfortable with who I was, and even after he passed, it was easy to remember his words and take comfort in them. Still, even though I knew I didn’t want to be referred to as a she or a he… I needed to be referred to as _something_. So it’s just been "he” for as long as I can remember, and it still chafes when my family forgets. Like, most people I meet are going to assume I’m a man, and I’m fine with that. But, like… when it’s my friends and family who don’t bother?“

Another shurg, and this time Anders nodded with understanding.

"I understand. It’s like when people assume that I prefer men because pretty much all of my lasting relationships with people that I really cared about were men. But I do like women. I like women a lot. I spent a lot of my stint at the Pearl in Denerim with several women. Sometimes more than one at once. But it’s like I said before, I believe that when a person falls in love, they fall in love with the entire person. It just so happens that the people I’ve dared to fall in love with were mostly men. 

“Now, that sort of thing is a little different from your situation, but it’s the same… idea. The frustration that comes from having to deal with the fact that not everyone will always understand or even respect who you are.

"But, I digress. I’ve met people like you in the Circle who didn’t prefer one set of pronouns over the other. It might help to tell people to refer to you with something… neutral like "they” or “them”. These are words people already know and are comfortable with, and they’re easy to remember. There are other neutral pronoun sets out in the world, though I can’t recall any off the top of my head… Isabela might know a few.“

Hayden shrugged. "Oh, no need to go to such trouble for me. I think I like those myself. Like you said, they’re simple to remember, and people already use them in their regular speech.”

They grinned, and for the first time since they’d walked into the clinic, Anders watched Hayden truly relax. “After all, you really can’t avoid saying "they” or “them” in a sentence very often, can you? Yes, I like those words very much.“ They laughed, seeming quite pleased with themselves. Anders couldn’t help but chuckle a bit in return.

"I’m glad I could help you sort this out. Just know that if you want to talk about anything else, feel free to come by and ask, and maybe I’ll know a thing or two that can help.”

“I actually kind of want to know more about you, actually. Like… what you got up to at the Pearl? Isabela won’t shut up about you when I take her anywhere, you know.” Anders nearly choked on the bite of sandwich he’d been chewing and had to wash it down with a bit of his tea. He felt his face flush, and it must’ve been pretty bad because the mirth sparkling in Hayden’s eyes was unmistakeable.

“You’re asking about… like, sexuality now?”

“Yours, in particular.” Hayden replied, gently digging one elbow into their knee as they propped their chin in one hand, still grinning like the cat that’d caught the cream. Anders tittered.

“I just told you that I’m attracted to both men and woman.”

“And me,” they added. “Yes,” Anders replied without thinking, “and you.”

Then Anders realized what he’d just said and Hayden had to set down their mug before rolling over with laughter. “I can’t believe I got you to say that!” They descended into giggles for a moment or two before laying back on the rug and turning their head to look at him.

“What happened to the flirty Anders who I spoke to when we first met? I liked that version of you.” Anders shrugged. “Old habits die hard,” was all he said on the matter. “And, speaking of habits… would you like to tell everyone during our next card night about what we’ve discussed? Or at least tell them your preferred pronouns. They don’t need every sordid detail… _especially_ Isabela.”

Hayden sat up and was suddenly sober for a moment as they thought about it.

“Yes… I think I’d like that. I might… might need your help with it. The telling of it. You know?”

“Whatever you need, Hayden,” Anders promised.

“Thank you, Anders. For… all of this. And the robes. I mean, I could’ve asked my mother, but… I wanted to talk to you. I figured that you might understand.”

“Do you want me to help tell your family as well?”

Hayden shrugged. “I suppose? If it gets you to eat a proper meal, sure. It’s mostly Mother that I need to tell. Like, Carver’s always been pretty decent about it, and even Gamlen sort of understands. If he’s referred to me as a man to others, it hasn’t been within my hearing.”

“Hmm. I’d never say no to a free meal,” Anders purred, and Hayden grinned triumphantly. “Then it’s a date! You’ll come tonight.”

“Hayden…” Anders groaned. “It’s not a date.”

“Yes it is. Now do I have to stick around and help you out in the clinic to make sure you come, or…”

“Well, I never say no to a second pair of hands. I’ve got some potions that need brewing.” “Will you show me how to make them? It’s probably cheaper than ordering, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Anders replied as he walked back into the clinic proper, unlocking the door and relighting the lantern outside. “And yes, sometimes. It is.”

And so they worked side by side for the remainder of the day, Hayden unable to help keep themselves from smiling as they worked. They looked good in the robes, too; silvery blue was a nice color on them. Brought out their eyes. Eyes that sparkled and did things to Anders’ insides that reminded him of how Karl had sometimes stared at him like Anders was some sort of amusing secret that only he’d known.

Anders wondered, briefly, if that was how Hayden thought of him. Then he shook his head and went back to his work; he had socks to darn later and he wanted to finish them in time to leave for that free meal he’d been promised.


	21. Anders and Mage Rights/The Manifesto (Anders/Fenris/Hawke)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders discovers a few pages from an old version of his manifesto, and is discovered reading it by Hawke and Fenris. Then of course... Hawke has one of their brilliant ideas. 
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Mentions of Vibrating Butt Plugs, Bondage, + Fenris' voice sounding like liquid sex.**

Anders pulled a book from the shelf, a little gem about anatomy that had somehow escaped his notice after all the time he’d spent at the Hawke estate.

However, when he tried to pry it free from between several volumes of some of Brother Genitivi’s travelouges, he accdentally pried some of those free as well and they fell to the ground with a soft, crunching crash against the carpeted floor. Anders bent to pick them up, until he noticed a few stray pieces of paper that had fallen from between the pages of the book about the Brother’s travels in Antiva.

Anders frowned, setting the papers and the anatomy book aside and put the others back. Then he turned to leaf through the pages and was stunned to find his own handwriting staring back at him from the crumpled pages.

_“Andraste suffered at the hands of magisters. Thus, she feared the influence of magic. But if the Maker blamed magic for the magisters’ actions in the Black City, why would He still gift us with it? The oppression of mages stems from the fears of men, not the will of the Maker.”_

“Reading your manifesto again?” A voice asked from the doorway.

“Fenris,” Anders gasped, nearly dropping the pages at the sound of the elf’s voice. “Um… well.”

“I thought you said you were done with it and that you and Hayden were writing letters to the people in Kirkwall with family in the Gallows.” Fenris shot him a gentle but accusatory look as he crossed his arms and leaned against the sofa that he, Fenris, and Hayden all loved so much. Anders looked down at the pages in his hands.

“We are. We have. Varric helped us find a printer in the city who’s good for being… discreet. But this…? I found it stashed in one of the books. I’d forgotten that I used to do that.”

At that point, Hayden walked in the room, chuckling.

“I’d almost forgotten that too. Looks like there are still a few books I didn’t catch. Used to be just about every book had a piece of your manifesto in it at one point or another. It was almost a problem… until we got together and you just started burning the pages you hated, since I always had paper on hand for you.”

They walked around Fenris and their eyes found the anatomy book that Anders had almost forgotten about. “Oh… I knew I should’ve put that in a better place. Um. That… that was supposed to be a gift. I… found it while digging through Xenon’s library of… things.” Then they smiled, and Anders knew that smile. Hayden only got them when they were in a flirty mood.

“I also may have found a copy of Fang of the Dragonlord while I was there.”

Anders felt his face flush. “Really?”

Hayden nodded, grinning and trying to hide it with a hand half covered by one of their robes’ slightly too long sleeves. “I was thinking about having Fenris read it to you while we were in bed later, but… then I heard you reading your manifesto.”

“Hayden,” Fenris half sighed, half groaned. “Please don’t say that you want me to read his manifesto to him…”

Anders suddenly felt his trousers become somewhat… restricting as he stared at Fenris, imagining his manifesto being read aloud in that sinful voice of his… he shifted, and the friction of his smalls and trousers didn’t help matters. By now, Hayden had noticed his predicament, and Fenris had as well. The elf groaned again.

“The thought is that arousing, is it?” He groused. “Well. As long as you promise to wear those robes… you know the ones. And _you_ ,” –he pointed at Hayden– “don’t get to let him cum until I say so!” Hayden’s grin merely widened. “Can we use the silk restraints? And that enchanted plug?” Anders was suddenly both even more incredibly aroused and frightened all at once, which made Justice stir as blue lightning skittered across his skin.

Hayden’s grin faded as they whipped around and drew Anders close, gently angling Anders’ face so that they could kiss his cheek and stroke his hair.

“Sorry, Justice… you know that Fenris and I would never hurt Anders. That’s why we have safeguards.” Hayden fixed Anders with a soft, but stern stare. “You remember your words, right?” Anders nodded. “Cats for go, smite for pause, and templar for stop. Yes, I remember.”

“So…” Fenris said, picking up the pages that Anders had set down, eyes glancing over the words that had once been a mystery to him. “…are we going to retire early or not?”

“I never said we had to retire for the night,” Hayden replied airily, smirking saucily at Anders while their fingers trailed down his neck and stopped at his left clavicle, stroking it slowly. “I was told that the plug we bought was supposed to be silent. I think we start with that, read until dinnertime, and then properly retire for the night afterwards? What do you think?”

Anders couldn’t stop the moan from escaping his throat, and suddenly Fenris looked up at them both, a slow smirk spreading across his own face.

“I think… that Anders likes that idea very much. Shall we… go freshen up before dinner?”

Hayden could only laugh as they led Anders after Fenris, stumbling and breathless from his already painful arousal. Maker, he really hadn’t expected this, but he was certainly eager for it. Perhaps a little too eager to hear the words of his manifesto be read aloud in that rich baritone of Fenris’ that he’d always thought was too criminal to be real… still.

Tonight was definitely going to be worth the torture.


	22. Anders and the Inquisition (Anders/Fenris/Hawke)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hayden receives a letter from Varric asking for their aid. Hayden, who has been living with their lovers in the Amaranthine wilderness since leaving Kirkwall, takes some time to consider what this means and how Anders and Fenris fit into it all. 
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Post DA2 Headcanons, False Calling, Anders Alive and Well.**

When Hayden got the letter they simply folded it up and mulled over it for a few days. They knew Anders and Fenris had noticed, but Hayden knew that, whatever their decision, Hayden couldn’t go anywhere without them.

Leaving them behind wasn’t an option.

But the days after receiving that letter occupied Hayden’s mind heavily. They knew about the trouble the Wardens were in because Anders had woken up in the middle of the night, sobbing and terrified that he was hearing his Calling (something he shouldn’t ever have to hear, playing host to a Fade Spirit as he was), when Justice helped calm their fears by telling them it didn’t sound right. Something about the tune of the music was _off_ , but that didn’t matter to Anders, even though he still woke up sometimes at night from the terrible nightmares this new, terrifying song gave him.

Eventually, Hayden couldn’t stand it any longer.

“I received a letter from Varric a few days ago,” they said during their latest evening meal. Fenris looked up from his food. “Is that what you’ve been so quiet about this past week?”

Hayden nodded. They glanced around the little cabin they’d made for themselves out in Amaranthine’s wilds, somewhere between the Keep and the city, in case they needed to be reached by certain people. It was a good home, almost better than the estate they’d shared in Kirkwall. Though, that might have been because it was one they’d helped to build rather than acquire… the estate had felt more like a borrowed home than anything else.

This… this was a place they felt they could return to if they ever had to leave. Like now.

“Varric says the Inquisition needs our help. Apparently Corypheus isn’t as dead as we thought he was.” And… silence. Hayden continued eating while the other two (presumably) stared at them in shock. “You… were you thinking of leaving us?” Anders asked, very quietly. Hayden stopped eating for a moment and shook their head.

“I won’t lie to you and say I didn’t think about it. After much thought however, I found that I still need you both very much. Perhaps more than is healthy, but… someday I’ll address that properly when the world isn’t ending.” They flashed Anders a tentative smile, and watched the other mage’s shoulders relax. He nodded in thanks. “There’s no shame in admitting that, Hayden. You know that I’d be in the same boat without you and Fenris.”

The two of them looked at Fenris, who startled a bit, but nodded slowly after a few moments.

“So…. what do you intend to do? Or rather, what is Varric asking of you?”

“Us,” Hayden corrected him. “I’m not going anywhere without either of you. And… that was another thing I was thinking about this past week…” Their eyes shifted to Anders and their brow creased in worry. “Even if the Calling you’re hearing is false, not everyone knows that. Who knows what the Wardens are doing to have disappeared so completely from the rest of the world…”

“They’ve disappeared?” Fenris asked, suddenly concerned.

“That is what Varric writes, anyway. Even their spymaster, the Nightingale… Leliana, even _she_ couldn’t find any apart from the ones here at the keep who know that the Calling is false. Though, I get the impression that she wasn’t happy that Rashia refused to tell her how she knew?” Anders nodded. “Last time I went out to the Vigil and Rashia was there, I got that impression as well. She may not have loved Leliana in the way she loves Alistair, but Rashia cares about Leliana very much.”

“I think Rashia’s back from her latest expedition,” Hayden added. “I want to go to the Inquisition’s new headquarters… a place called Skyhold? It’s up in the mountains on the border of Ferelden and Orlais. I want to take Rashia with us, if she’ll agree to come. Apparently Alistair and Stroud are hiding out somewhere near this town called Crestwood and I thought she’d like to see her lover again. And some old friends.”

“I hope we’re not going to have to get involved,” Fenris grumbled.

Anders chuffed, patting the elf on one shoulder. “Love, I might not take up the armor as much these days, but I’m still a Warden. And if the Wardens are mixed up in all this mess with the hole in the sky and the tears in the veil… we’re already involved.”

Hayden nodded. “And that’s why I took so long to think about this. I wanted to be absolutely sure I’d considered everything…”

“…before dragging us with you?” Fenris finished. Hayden nodded, a small smile tugging at the edge of their lips. “Of course. I figured I owed you as much.” Fenris folded his arms and made some unhappy noises, but in the end relented to Anders stroking his hair and ears in the places he liked, idly muttering, “I hope you don’t think this means that I’m on board with this, just that I forgive you for not leaving without us.”

Hayden just smiled and made a note to hitch up a horse in the morning so he could go see Rashia. If they were going to do this, they wanted to have as much of their family with them as they possibly could.

That, and she’d kill Hayden if they didn’t tell her they were leaving to go see her lover without her.


	23. Anders and AUs (Anders/Fenris/Hawke)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which An Alpha!Anders comes home after a day at the clinic with a surprise for his two pregnant omegas, Hawke and Fenris.
> 
> Tags and warnings for this chapter include: **Alpha!Anders, Omega!Fenris, Omega!Hawke, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mpreg, Tooth-Rotting Fluff.**

Fenris stretched as he awoke, sprawled like a cat in the bed his shared with his alpha and fellow omega lovers. It was soothing to wake up in a bed full of their intermingling scents, even without their alpha present.

He blinked blearily at the dark ceiling of the four poster bed, trying to gather his thoughts as Hayden continued to sleep beside him. Then a distant door closed and Fenris’ heart began to race with excitement while the kits in his belly stirred. If that wasn’t Orana or Bodhan, then it had to be Anders, back from a long day at the clinic.

Fenris simply let himself languish in the bed while he waited, glancing over at the sleeping form of Hayden, who was resting on their side, one arm reaching up to cover their eyes and the other cradling the swell of their own belly. Fenris chuckled softly in amusement as he thought back to the night of the first heat he and Hayden had intentionally left off their suppressants and contraceptive potions. They had intended to start a family, the three of them, and Hayden had gone into heat first. Their intentions had been to wait and see if Hayden would conceive first, and if they did, then Fenris would take their next dose as soon as possible.

They hadn’t counted on Hayden’s heat pulling on Fenris, forcing his own heat to start a full two weeks earlier than it usually did.

And of course, they had both ended up pregnant despite their alpha’s worries that his Grey Warden blood might affect his fertility. Not only that, both he and Hayden had ended up with more than one, since they had stared showing far earlier than Anders considered normal, and Hayden had stared showing even earlier than Fenris had despite the fact that they’d conceived right about the same time.

Fenris was shortly brought out of his musings when the sound of distant footsteps reached his keen elven ears from the main hall’s stairs as they went up, and up, and up, finally reaching the landing and making their way to the bedroom.

The doorknob jiggled and turned, and there stood Anders, somehow managing to look even more tired than either Hayden or Fenris were on their more exhausted days. But upon seeing Fenris and Hayden, the mage’s face brightened, and the tiredness lifted from his face. Beside Fenris, Hayden made a soft sound of contentment, but didn’t stir.

“Hello my loves,” Anders greeted them, his voice soft and gentle as he set down his staff against the wall and the basket that had been slung over one arm –that smelled of warm, fresh bread and many other delicious things– on the desk nearby. Fenris grunted, propping himself up until he could sit upright, the blankets falling down to pool in what remained of his lap. He had recently stopped fitting into his own sleep clothes and had now taken to wearing some of Hayden’s, the blue silk of the finery clinging to his skin and emphasizing the gentle roundness of his middle.

At the sound of Anders’ voice, Hayden stirred at last.

“Anders?” they mumbled sleepily, rolling over onto their back. Anders shrugged off his coat, removed his boots and braces, and climbed onto the bed to snuggle between his two omegas.

“I’m here darlings,” Anders cooed.

“You’re early this evening,” Fenris commented, glancing at the dwarven timepiece that Hayden had purchased several months ago. Anders, having crawled up to be level with their bellies, was lying stomach down on the bed, reaching for Hayden and stroking the swell of their belly slowly, sensually.

“There weren’t that many people in the clinic this evening,” he replied absently, “and I wanted to surprise you with some of the snacks you requested last night.”

“Sounds good,” Hayden mumbled. They sounded as though they were on the edge of sleep again. Fenris couldn’t help but smile at how cute the smaller of his two mages looked, eyes closed, hair tousled, swollen belly full with their alpha’s kits. “Hayden,” Fenris teased gently, “you have to be awake to eat the food, you know.”

Hayden grunted, and even he could see the gentle press of a hand through the fabric of the red silk finery they wore.

“Ugh, I know. The babies are hungry now. Thanks for that reminder.”

“Sorry love,” Anders laughed, “I’m only trying to do my best to feed you.”

Hayden’s eyes blinked blearily open again, and they groaned softly before they pulled themselves into a sitting position like Fenris, which made it that much more obvious how much bigger Hayden was in comparison to him, despite the fact that Fenris was likely carrying two half human, half elven babes and he sometimes felt like he was large enough already.

Hayden yawned and pulled the covers over said belly while Anders turned to lavish his attention on Fenris, who basked in the glow of his Alpha’s attention until his stomach growled in protest at the promise of food not yet having been fulfilled.

“Alpha. Food now, if you please,” he purred. “Hurry up and stuff me won’t you, and I just might be in the mood to get stuffed somewhere else later…”

Anders, who he could scent was suddenly struck with a heady rush of arousal, seemed to take a moment to collect himself before climbing off the bed quickly with a quick, slightly giddy, “Yes, sir!” that had Hayden glancing over at Fenris with an almost exasperated expression.

“Don’t tell me you just promised him sex,” Hayden drawled, trying for unimpressed but was unable to keep the hint of amusement from their voice. Fenris simply grinned. “I only promised him the possibility of sex. But you can’t say you don’t want it either… I can smell it, and he likely can too, you know.”

Hayden groaned, grabbing one of the spare pillows and playfully hitting Fenris with it.

“You’re impossible. You know, the sex last night is exactly the reason we decided to have a lie-in for most of today, remember?”

“I certainly do,” Anders chimed in, a platter full of last night’s cravings plus a spread of a few other things in his hands. He placed it between them, and he grinned as he settled on the bed with him, letting the two omegas have their pick of the selection before he started to assemble his own meal.

“It’s my job as an alpha to take care of my pregnant omegas, catering to your every need and desire. Even the carnal ones.” He winked, popping a grape into his month and chewing it _incredibly_ slowly.

Hayden began panting a little, and Fenris felt his own arousal spike slightly.

“Stop that you,” Hayden scowled, still unable to help a smile from making its way through to their face. “I’d like you to eat the _actual_ food first, if you don’t mind.” And then it was Anders’ turn to stare and blink owlishly at Hayden while Fenris descended into a fit of snickering at the expression on their alpha’s face as the implication of Hayden’s words set in.

“Oh,” Anders said after a few moments had passed, “yes, I think I can do that. Yes.” And Hayden simply preened as their personal success, having put their beloved alpha in his place at last… at least until the food was gone and the _real_ fun began.


	24. Anders and Feathers (Anders/Multiple Pairings)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders purchases a set of feathered robes during his brief stay in Denerim which he proceeds to fall in love with. The feathers, at least.
> 
> This turned out to be much longer and has so much more depth than I had originally intended it to have. I like it, though. I like it alot.
> 
> Tags and warnings for this chapter include: **Past Anders/Karl Thekla, Past Anders/F!Mage!Warden.**

Anders remembered finding that first set of Tevinter robes for sale at that Wonders of Thedas place when he was passing through Denerim again after his seventh escape. He knew he probably shouldn’t buy it, there were plenty of other things that he needed, but…

The metal plates of gold were just _so_ shiny and the fabrics were softer than anything he’d ever worn in the Circle, even as an Enchanter. And then there were the feathers.

Black as pitch with hints of blue and green and gold hidden among the wispy layers, the robes came with a set of pauldrons that were covered in what had to be hundreds of the silky things, and Anders adored every last one.

When he bought it, he remembered burying his face in the feathers, taking in their smell, only to be surprised to pick up hints of copper and sulfur among the soap and perfume that still clung to it from whomever had owned it previously. Whoever had sold this had seen battle before, or its previous wearer had been killed in battle and it had merely been sold here so that the victor could earn a rather nice sum of coin on the quick.

He wouldn’t know, until after he’d been conscripted by Rashia Amell and she’d recognized a chink in the side of the gold plating around his waist, that the robes he’d somehow managed to hold onto after all this time had belonged to a Tevinter mage.

“What, you mean a real mage from Tevinter?” He hadn’t been able to keep the excitement out of his voice, and Rashia scowled at him.

“Yes. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t sound so excited at the prospect of wearing a dead slaver’s clothes.” Anders remembered the feeling of shock as it slammed into him, and the burning shame that followed.

Rashia’s eyes had softened and her lips turned up in a wistful smile.

“Not so willing to continue wearing that, now are you? Well. Give me a minute to fetch those new robes for you before you have the desire to strip down to your smalls to scrub the filth of association off your skin, hmm?”

He only wore the Warden robes from then on.

…at least, until he had to leave them.

Anders remembered that he hadn’t disposed of the robes when Rashia had told him of the robes’ true origins. Instead, he’d dismantled them and had taken the parts he liked, threw away the parts he hadn’t. Over the course of his time with the Wardens, Anders made a coat from the pieces of the robes. He’d taken the pauldrons, but had to replace the shiny black feathers with a mix of white and brown feathers instead. They weren’t as fine as the black ones, but they were softer, fluffier. And he took the green vest outlined in gold, attaching it to a thick, brown undercoat. He’d had to sew his own sleeves together, and the result was… less than pretty, but it was sturdy and held together. It served him well when he and Justice fled the Wardens and headed to Kirkwall to seek out Karl.

And of course, as with most things in Anders’ life, it had ended in disaster.

Karl had been made Tranquil, but something about Justice’s presence had given his first love the presence of mind to become himself again as he bled out on the tiles of the Chantry floor. His eyes, which had grown duller and duller with each moment the flow remained un-staunched, somehow focused on the feathers of Anders’ coat for few moments.

He reached up to thread a hand through them, and he smiled a little at the feel and texture of them. “They’re a good look on you,” Karl whispered. “Keep them. My beloved feather mage.”

Those were Karl’s last spoken words, as only a few moments later, his breathing stopped.

Anders gathered a few of the stray feathers that he always had on hand and burned them with Karl’s body later that night, just outside of the city limits where no one would see. He spent time crushing the bones –almost lovingly– by hand, and burying the dust in the soil with some elfroot seeds. Several months down the road, the elfroot there would grow tall and strong, and even managed to produce the only patch of royal elfroot that Anders knew of for miles.

He never forgot where that particular patch was, or who had been buried there.

He tried not to think about his feathered coat overmuch after that, as the thought was too painful, even years later.

Until Hawke.

Hayden Hawke, who had stood by him as Karl’s body was burned, who held Anders while he cried even though he was but a stranger… who had helped him scatter the dust and ashes and plant the elfroot seeds. Hayden, who had once been so timid and quiet, had grown into a charming, beautiful, and charismatic servant of the people. Hayden, who never forgot who they were or where they’d come from, reached out to everyone but only surrounded themselves with the few they considered trustworthy. Family.

And in Anders’ case: their lover.

Hayden shared Karl’s love of Anders’ fascination with feathers, with their texture, their structure, the symbolism behind them. They _loved_ Anders’ coat. They touched it every chance they got, hugging him from the front or behind so they could thread their fingers through it, or sometimes when they shared a tent while out on an overnight job, Hayden would drape themselves over Anders like a human blanket, burying their face in them. Once, Anders had woken up to find Hayden reading on the chaise lounge on their balcony… in nothing but his coat.

It had been the most beautiful and arousing thing he’d ever seen. And the wicked grin that sprung to Hayden’s lips when their eyes met told Anders just how much they knew that.

Later, when Fenris joined them, Fenris loved the feathers of his coat too.

But he didn’t tell Anders why until they were on the run after the destruction of the chantry at the hands of the Underground, headed for Amaranthine to see what awaited them there (because nothing did in Kirkwall anymore, not really).

It was late evening, and Hayden was off looking for some game to eat. The area was heavily populated with rabbits and the large birds that preyed on them, so it wouldn’t take them long to come back, and it was just the two of them watching the sun slowly sink beneath the horizon of distant trees.

They were sitting shoulder to shoulder in the quiet, which would have ordinarily bothered Anders, but because the forest was so populated with the sounds of the wind and the wildlife, it wasn’t the kind of quiet that he hated so. And having a warm body next to him helped too.

Eventually, Fenris glanced over at him, and at the black coat that had replaced the one he’d made himself all those years ago shimmered softly in the warm red glow of the setting sun.

“You know, you look good in that coat,” Fenris told him matter-of-factly.

Anders stared at him, blinking owlishly. “What? You… you really think so?”

Fenris nodded.

“I didn’t used to. It’s a Tevinter thing, those feathers, or it used to be. It think it had gone out of style before Danarius took me with him to Seheron, where we were separated.” Separated, unfortunately reunited, and then separated again. But Fenris lips merely pursed –likely because he was remembering what had happened there– and he continued with, “I think that was another reason I didn’t like you when we first met. Even though feathers had never been to Daranius’ tastes, it… they reminded me of him.”

“And therefore, so did I.”

“Yes. But… then I saw you with the coat off, and your shirt…. and I saw the scars. And I couldn’t unsee them. Even when the coat was on, all I could see when I looked at you was those scars.”

“And… then? Now?” Anders prompted.

Fenris was silent for a moment, and he reached up to thread a hand through the feathers, as dark and inky black as the feathers of the robes he had bought when he was young.

“After seeing those scars, I couldn’t see you as a magister anymore. No magister has scars. I suppose I began seeing you as more of the man you wished me to see you as, rather than just a mage. And then… Hayden… Hayden brought us together, and you became more than just a man.” Fenris stared at him intensely, capturing Anders’ gaze, freezing him to the spot.

“You became… mine.”

And that was saying something, considering Fenris had claimed very few things as his over the course of his life. Fenris kissed him then, basking in the light of the setting sun. They remained that way until Hayden returned with a large rabbit for them to eat, and they settled back into being a trio again.

Eventually they arrived at Vigil’s Keep, and by happenstance Hayden’s cousin and Anders’ former commander, Rashia Amell, happened to be back from her latest trip to Soldier’s Peak. She greeted them with open arms, introduced almost everyone from their motley crew (with the exception of Nathaniel whom they’d met a few years prior) and helped them pick out a place for them to live out in the Amaranthine wilds.

It was at dinner that Anders and Rashia finally had the chance to speak while they watched Nathaniel and Fenris have a deep conversation about something while Hayden appeared to be listening to some story of Sigrun’s with rapt attention.

“You still have a thing for feathers, I see,” she commented with a teasing grin.

He merely smiled at her and took a sip from his cup of cider. “At least these didn’t belong to the robes of a dead slaver. Or at least I hope they didn’t. Hayden had it made for me when my old coat became to difficult to repair.”

Rashia nodded thoughtfully. “Well, regardless, even if they were, you are certainly not the man who was once proud of the fact that his robes had belonged to a Tevinter mage. So I suppose that counts for something. You look good in feathers, though. They suit you.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

“Rashia. Call me Rashia. We’re family now, right?”

“Hmm. Then I suppose we shouldn’t tell Hayden about the things you and I got up to when you conscripted me, hmm? I’m pretty sure family don’t do those sorts of things with one another.”

Rashia paused, shuddered, and took a sip from her own drink.

“No, definitely not.”

But Anders couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto his face when he thought about her words. His feathers suited him, she said. She, who was now family. A family that consisted of herself, her ragtag band of Wardens, and now Anders and his two lovers, one of whom she was actually related to.

His love of feathers had given him all of this, in the end.

And it hadn’t ended in disaster.


	25. Anders and Happiness (Anders/Fenris/Hawke)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders enjoys some (very emotional) sleepy morning sex with his lovers after the events of Inquisition.
> 
> Tags and warnings for this one include: **Smut, Masturbation, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Handjobs, Grey Warden Stamina.**

Anders’ eyes fluttered open as the rays of the early morning sun disturbed him from his rest. He sensed, through the hazy fog of his awakening, that this last dream had been one of the rare good ones, though they were slowly becoming less and less rare as time went on.

He shifted automatically, only to find himself weighed down by the human blanket that was Hayden, who was still fast asleep, their long dark curls cascading down the back of their silk sleepwear. Anders glanced over Hayden to his right, and there was Fenris, curled up against the small of Hayden’s back.

The cabin was quiet except for the distant sound of snoring from the aged Ser Pounce-a-lot, who was probably curled up in his usual place on the windowsill that was just on the other side of their bedroom door. The sun was probably best there in the mornings.

Eventually, Justice finally stirred from his place in Anders’ head, a gentle feeling of urgency accompanying his usual morning greeting.

 _ **We should get up**_ , Justice grumbled. _**We need to prepare those potions for our next venture out to Amaranthine.**_

Anders groaned softly in protest –"No we don’t we can stay and sleep in awhile longer,“– and at last, Hayden stirred. “Justice trying to get you out of bed?” they teased through a yawn, reaching up and cupping Anders’ face, stroking his stubbled cheek with their thumb. “I’m sorry, but I’d like to keep Anders in bed for a little while longer, if you don’t mind, Justice.”

The knot of feelings that belonged to Justice rippled with fond annoyance, and his presence began to fade from Anders’ mind, though not before a mental kiss was pressed against a metaphorical cheek and Justice left Anders alone with Hayden again.

“You want sex, don’t you?” Anders purred, chuckling. “Justice never usually gives up so easily unless he’s figured out you want sex.”

Hayden gently pulled themselves across the rest of Anders’ body, chest against chest, legs tangled up in a mess. Hayden’s hair tumbled over their shoulders like a silky black waterfall, tickling Anders’ bare skin.

“Maybe I don’t want sex,” Hayden replied with a sly grin. “Maybe I really do want to just have a nice long morning cuddle.”

“…which will eventually lead to sex.”

Hayden gave a sigh of mock indignation and settled their face so close to Anders that their eyes nearly cross just looking at the man. And they threaded their arms underneath and around Anders’ shoulders and Anders pulled them just a hair closer with his own so they could lazily devour each others’ mouths with a long, languid kiss.

Anders could feel Hayden’s tongue against his as they ran it across what it could reach of his teeth before plundering further, not rushing, merely savoring.

Then they heard the purring. The two mages pulled away from their kiss to turn and stare at the elf who was blinking lazily at them from his spot on the bed, a hint of a smile turning the edges of his lips upwards as he stretched languidly.

“Don’t mind me,” Fenris mumbled sleepily, “I was enjoying watching that.”

Hayden laughed and turned to rest their head against Anders’ chest so that they could look over in his direction. “You could join us,” they offered. “I think I’m in the mood to share.”

“Oh, it’s that sort of morning, is it?” Fenris laughed. “We haven’t had him sandwiched between us in awhile.” At those words, Anders felt his dick twitch with arousal which Hayden had most definitely felt as well, laying on top of him as they were. “Indeed. And I think Anders likes that though _very_ much… or at least his dick does.”

“Hey,” Anders growled playfully as he nipped at Hayden’s nose when they turned to face him, “sometimes my dick and I aren’t always the greatest at communicating, but I’m pretty sure we’re in agreement on this one. Besides, I told you that the cuddling would lead to sex, didn’t I?” Hayden leaned up and returned the favor with a nip of his own, stealing a quick kiss when they pulled away.

“So you did. Be a dear and help me out of these clothes, won’t you? It’s getting awfully warm.”

“Wouldn’t do to see you overheat,” Anders fussed, reaching under the hem of the silk and pulling it over their arms and head. Fenris had sprung up pretty quickly and climbed out from under the covers to pull down their sleep pants, leaving Hayden in absolutely nothing. Once Anders had pulled the top over Hayden’s head and they sat back on his thighs, their hair spilled across their back and shoulders and the light of the morning sun created a soft glow around them that seemed to transform them into a divine creature sent from the Maker himself to call Anders home… though perhaps through an entirely different kind of death than most people usually experienced when going to the Maker’s side.

“You look… so beautiful Hayden,” Anders breathed, and Hayden smiled at him sweetly.

“You look pretty beautiful from up here too,” they replied, and for a moment the world stood still until Hayden pushed back the covers to started undo the laces of Anders’ sleep pants, but Fenris stopped him.

“Wait. Why don’t you prepare yourself while I do that?” Fenris flashed Hayden a satisfied smirk. Hayden chuckled. “You just want to have him all to yourself for a while, don’t you? Toppy bastard.” Hayden winked, and then rolled over Anders’ left side to fall against the bed, summoning a grease spell to coat their fingers. Then they grasped their own dick and gave it a few quick strokes to pique its interest before moving on to _slowly_ massage their balls and perineum before moving on to the stretching.

Anders watched Hayden’s face as they pleasured themselves; it wasn’t a thing they did very often. They were quieter when they had to do it, probably because they were more focused on getting the job done right than making it pleasurable. Anders reached out and smoothed a thumb across their forearm, humming soothingly.

“You can enjoy yourself, you know. You and I both know there’s always magic to help if you get a little too carried away… besides, I like watching you do it. I just wish you were louder.”

“Speaking of louder…” Fenris murmured, pressed his suddenly very naked body against Anders, “I’d like to hear less talking and more moaning from _you_ , my dear mage.” And, quicker than Anders could even think up a reply, Fenris finished undoing the laces of Anders’ pants and grasped Anders’ own rapidly hardening shaft. Whatever Anders might’ve had to say in reply was cut off by a loud moan that was echoed by Hayden, who’d evidently found their prostate and was now stretching themselves in earnest.

Anders panted, burying his face in the pillows as Fenris gently, rhythmically rutted against him while slowly pumping his dick, using his pre cum as an impromptu lubricant. He wasn’t going to last at this rate, but perhaps Fenris was counting on that.

“Fen,” he shot back through heavy breaths, “my pants, if you please? I’d like to not cum all over these ones… I want to use them again later.”

Fenris was efficient in removing them, and as Anders had expected, just a few quick nips to his neck, combined with the electric tingling of the markings and Fenris’ slow pumps and light squeezes, Anders was coating Fenris’ hand with his spend and was still rock hard afterwards. By now, Fenris had worked himself up to a good hardness himself, and glanced over at Hayden, who was flushed and sweating a little after having kept up a good stretching session for so long, they’d forgotten to be quiet and were whimpering a little as they removed their fingers to wipe them on a nearby cloth.

“Are you… ready?” they asked Anders, panting heavily. Anders rolled over and kissed them deeply, the sight of their flushed lips and hooded eyes just too tempting to resist.

“Most certainly. It looks like you enjoyed yourself, though. I’m glad.”

Hayden leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to Anders’ cheek in return. “Oh, very much so. But not quite as much as you, hmm? ‘suppose it’s a good thing you’re a Warden, or this might’ve gone quite differently.”

Anders chuckled, propping up Hayden’s hips with a pillow and positioning himself at their entrance. “Sex doesn’t need penetration to be pleasurable, Hayden,” he teased, his breath hitching as he pressed forward. Hayden had done a very thorough job indeed and was throwing their head back with the loudest moan yet, though they still refrained from digging their heels into the small of Anders’ back to encourage him to move. Instead they rubbed their legs tighter against his sides, brushing against sensitive spots that made him moan as well.

Eventually he was finally up to the hilt and Fenris held out his hand for some slick, which Anders gladly gave. He did his best to remain still while Fenris worked, though sometimes a brush here and a brush there would cause his hips to jerk and Hayden’s legs would tremble from the aftershocks. Anders soothed them by humming a soft tune from his childhood while Fenris got into position behind him, kissing and nipping at his skin as he worked his way up until he was pressed up against Anders’ back, the tip of his shaft at Anders’ entrance.

Then Fenris pressed himself in, and it was Anders’ turn to tremble while he held himself as still as possible until Fenris was also fully sheathed.

“You feel so good, as always,” Fenris murmured in praise, his hot breath tickling Anders’ skin, making it tight and tingly.

“It feels good,” Anders sighed, “so tight and so full…”

“Alright,” Hayden groused playfully, “now that we’re done being poetic, I’d like somebody to move now.” Anders chuckled, and before he could say anything, Fenris pulled out until the head of his penis reached the edge, and then he thrust forward, Anders’s hips jerking him backwards to meeting him halfway as Fenris hit his sweet spot dead on.

And then it was more about getting into their usual rhythm again, which was hard sometimes when none of them had much speaking capacity at this point and had to rely more on their senses and move in as much sync as possible. It was true, they didn’t often do it this way, with Anders being in the middle as he was, but he loved it when the two of them volunteered to show their love for him like this; how light it made his heart, how happy he was.

It was like falling in love for the first time all over again.

And with that thought and one last thrust, Anders was coming again, and he reached down to wring Hayden’s orgasm from them while Fenris was groaning through his own orgasm behind him. Anders managed to have the presence of mind to clean Hayden up while they rode out the after shocks, and eventually he and Fenris untangled themselves to fall against the bed next to Hayden, warm, exhausted, and fully sated.

“Thank you,” Anders whispered after awhile, when both of his lovers had rolled over to cuddle him in their post-coital haze. “Thank you… for everything.”

“It was nothing,” Hayden yawned, seemingly teetering on the edge of the Fade once more. “I love you. Both of you.”

“As I love both of you,” Fenris concurred. Anders’ heart tightened a little more with joy. It was so rare for Fenris to verbally voice his love for either of them, and every time he did so was a rare treasure in and of itself.

“And I love you most,” Anders finished.

For truly, it was the least he could do. After all, no mage he’d ever known had dared to fall in love, but he’d done it. He’d done it several times over. And while some of those might not have lasted, it didn’t make them any less valid, nor the happiness he’d gleaned from them any less real. It was merely that these loves _had_ lasted after all this time. And he hoped that they continued to last until the end of their days.

For yes, no mage he’d ever know had dared to fall in love… but it was the one rule he would most cherish breaking, time and time again.


End file.
